Searching
by knitchick
Summary: Ten years after the war, Hermione goes in search of love and ends up changing the world. Repost of original story. Edited and finally complete. HG/SS, slightly OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a reposting of my original story I pulled after it languished unfinished for seven months on chapter ten. It is now complete (15 chapters and an epilogue), and has been edited by my wonderful Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

**Thank you for your patience.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything (not even my house) ... it all belongs to JKR and Warner Brothers.**

Hermione Granger ran her hand nervously through her hair while casually looking around at the other patrons of the Three Broomsticks and noted with some nervousness that it was surprisingly crowded for a Thursday. She had specifically chosen _this_ evening because the pub was usually quite empty on Thursdays, and she hadn't wanted to advertise her presence. Thankfully, she didn't see anyone she recognized which was a relief considering what she was there for.

After five years of constant hounding and nagging by her happily married friends, she had agreed to a blind date with one of the new Aurors Harry and Ron worked with. His name was Jonathan Marks, he was from the states, twenty eight and according to Ginny, 'quite dreamy.'

He was also late.

Twelve minutes late to be exact.

Not that she was keeping track or anything … well, yes, maybe she was.

She toyed with the stem of her wine glass and looked around once more, her nervousness turning to agitation as the minutes continued to tick by with no sign of her wayward date.

Maybe he had come, taken one look at her, and left.

She knew she wasn't a raving beauty but she didn't think she was hideous either. After many years of frustration, she had finally found hair products that had tamed her frizzy locks into some semblance of order, she had a good complexion (if a bit pale from being buried in books all the time) a decent figure (if the covertly appreciative looks she had received from both Ron and Harry when she'd come downstairs in this uncomfortably tight dress were anything to judge by) and, of course, excellent teeth.

Sweet Circe, it was almost as if she were describing a horse. Maybe she _did_ need to get out of her office and interact with real humans more often.

She didn't _intentionally_ seclude herself away from other people, she just tended to get caught up in her latest project and time simply got away from her. To hear her friends describe it though, she was the hermit of Hogwarts burrowing in her cave for weeks (or months) at a time without sunlight or fresh air, living off cold tea and biscuits, surrounded by only her books and parchment for warmth and comfort.

Drama queens, the whole bloody lot of them.

She ate plenty of fresh food.

She couldn't help that she had an insatiable desire to learn, and, she had discovered to her own great surprise (but evidently no one else's) a desire to share that knowledge with others.

Apparently, all those years spent tutoring Ron and Harry (along with a good portion of Gryffindor House) had awoken her dormant 'know-it-allness,' and after graduating top in her class from Avalon University with dual degrees in Charms and Potions, she had chosen to share said knowledge by writing her own books instead of teaching (as everyone had assumed she would).

And now, at only twenty eight, Hermione had already written and published four books; two of which still made Flourish and Blotts annual 'Most Recommended Reads' list and were on the _Daily __Prophet__'__s_ 'Top Seller' list.

Her first foray into writing had occurred quite by accident while doing research for a required final essay in her Modern Magical History class. She had been dismayed to discover, that even four years after the final defeat of Voldemort, not a single history book accurately portrayed what had _really_ happened. Not a single book told the stories of the fallen witches and wizards that had fought, sacrificed and even died, fighting against the evil tyrant that had invaded Britain.

Not a single book told the true story. Voldemort was dead and people were still afraid to speak his name.

So she did.

She told a story of bravery, fallen comrades, a duplicitous and often oblivious government, double agents, friendship, suffering, loss and silent heroes.

What was originally supposed to be no longer than thirty thousand words, had taken on a life of it's own and soon exceeded one hundred and thirty thousand. Hermione felt almost a cathartic sort of healing as she wrote about people she had interviewed, some known, but most just names or memories, and about the boy Harry Potter who became the man that vanquished the Dark Lord with the help of his many friends. She became the voice for those that had perished and could no longer speak for themselves.

It had been a labor of love.

To her complete and utter amazement, her professor had been so impressed with her work, that she had convinced Hermione to publish it. Hermione, not really believing anything would come of her 'little book,' had sent copies to all her friends and everyone she had interviewed as a thank you, and promptly put the entire matter out of her head to concentrate on her other classes.

It wasn't until she arrived home from a fortnight spent in Italy with school friends, that she noticed her book prominently displayed in the front window of her favorite bookstore in Diagon Alley. Her friends had kept it a secret in order to surprise her.

It wasn't long after her return that she started to receive her first royalty checks from the publishing company; the amounts had left her almost speechless.

Her book sold out twelve times in the first year alone, and 'Hermione Granger' became a household name once again (much to her chagrin). She didn't care for the fame, but she had discovered her calling.

Writing.

Her second book, released two years after the first, was more technical and dealt with the symbiotic possibilities between healing potions and charms that tied in to a person's magical signature. Which, when used together, increased healing time by over fifty percent and greatly reduced patient aftercare.

Her findings, part of a senior project in Advanced Charms (which she had prudently been encouraged to patent) had been implemented by the Healers at St. Mungos to great success, and soon became the recognized 'norm' in all magical medical institutions (and the main reason her Gringotts vault was now _very__, __very_ comfortably padded with galleons).

With her financial security intact, but her intellect continually desiring new challenges, she turned her focus back to spell creation, a topic that had always interested her.

Her third book, published barely a year after the second, was meant as a 'how to' guide. In it she explored the nature and history of spell work, and broken down to their individual components, she analyzed the twenty most commonly used spells and expounded on how, with slight alterations in either wand movement or pronunciation of the incantation, the effectiveness, power and ease of casting of individual spells could be improved.

That book, while well received by the masters of that particular field, had taken much longer to be recognized by the general public, but had lately begun to slowly increase in popularity as word spread (especially among students just starting at Hogwarts).

It was her fourth book, however, published just last year, that had been the most controversial, and consequently, her biggest seller to date. In a perverse desire to trace her own roots to determine if, as she had always suspected, muggleborns _were_ actually descended from magical bloodlines (however many generations removed) she made some startling discoveries.

She had spent over a year working to improve the Bloodline Potion, a potion she hadn't even heard of until her third year Advanced Potions class at university. As it stood, the potion was ingested and then a drop of the drinker's blood was added to a specially prepared piece of parchment and the witch or wizards parentage would be revealed, but only back two generations. As this did nothing to support her premise, she had needed to alter the potion to reveal as far back as ten generations.

Between her study of biochemistry, human physiology, and potions itself (and after many, many, many, failed attempts) she finally succeeded. She had been incredibly pleased to discover that she _was_ descended from a 'pureblood' family, but the magic had died out in 1872, when her great, great, great grandmother, Juliet Pierce, married Thomas Granger (a muggle) and her only child had been born a squib. According to what little family history she could recover, she was the first magical child born since Juliet.

Talk about recessive genes.

She tested her theory on every muggle born who was willing (or amenable after being offered a monetary inducement) and her hypothesis was proven with a 99.3 percent accuracy. She felt somewhat vindicated that she could finally prove that she did, in fact, come from magic.

Unfortunately, the purebloods were less than pleased with her findings and wasted no time trying to disprove her theories (which none had been able to do as yet) and added to her lack of popularity among the self-proclaimed 'elite' of the wizarding world.

_But what was new?_

After that, Hermione had been approached by her publisher to write a book aimed at improving existing beauty charms and potions, something she was loathe to do, even though she knew it would be a huge moneymaker if successful. She had grudgingly begun some preliminary research, but her enthusiasm was halfhearted at best; she wanted to do something more stimulating or groundbreaking than hair tonics and blemish cremes.

The whole idea made her uncomfortable … like she was channeling Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil.

Speaking of uncomfortable … the torture device, otherwise known as the dress Ginny had forced her into, was displaying her already generous breasts even more prominently than she was comfortable with, and she unobtrusively tried to adjust the corset to cover herself. She didn't want Jonathan (assuming he ever showed up) to think she was easy.

Especially as she was, in point of fact, the complete _opposite_ of easy.

As pathetic as it was, at twenty-eight, she was still a virgin.

Hermione understood words. She also understood Arithmancy equations, deciphering runes in ancient texts, the theories and practical aspects of advanced transfiguration and charms, the logistics involved in spell creation and the intricacies of mixing different ingredients to create a potion.

What she didn't understand, was men.

She understood Harry and Ron and the rest of the Weasley males, because they were all like brothers, brothers she understood. Men, in a romantic sense, not so much. Her disastrous attempt at a relationship with Ron had proven that.

She had tried while she was away at university to interact with the few males she had been attracted to, but as soon as they discovered _she_ was the reason for the grading curve, their interest invariably waned.

She couldn't help that she was intelligent, and she refused to 'dumb herself down' as Ginny had tentatively suggested on a few occasions, even for just a quick shag. Besides, she didn't want just a one-time thing, she wanted to meet someone she could connect with. She wanted a man who would appreciate _all_ of her assets (_not_ just the ones about to bust out of her decolletage). She wanted to be liked for her intellect, her admittedly perverse sense of humor, her tenacity and various other admirable personality traits she was fairly sure she possessed … well … mostly sure.

She glanced at her watch once again, her date was now twenty four minutes late. Six more minutes and she was leaving. She refused to wait any longer, and she was fairly certain the blond man in the corner that had been leering at her cleavage for the last ten minutes was gathering his courage to approach her.

_Where in the bloody hell was he?_

Ginny would not be pleased to discover that all her hard work trying to make Hermione look gorgeous would be for naught, since the wanker hadn't even bothered to show.

Spending so much time alone doing research (especially in light of her many failures) had added quite a bit of color to her once very prim and proper vocabulary. Yet another reason she needed to get out in polite society more, as she rarely had anyone to censure her language.

But enough was enough. Waiting fifteen minutes was courtesy, waiting thirty minutes reeked of desperation. She was leaving.

Slamming down a galleon to cover her drink, she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair just as the outside door opened and a tall, dark haired man entered the pub, quickly looking around until he spotted her. She decided he must be Jonathan because for one: he was quite good looking, and two: by the way he was eying her up and down appreciatively as he approached, it was obvious he recognized her, and three: Ginny hadn't lied … he was definitely dreamy.

She remained standing as he approached, still a bit angry and waiting to hear his excuse before letting him off the hook for being so late, and slightly uneasy at the almost predatory looks he was giving her.

"Hermione?" he asked as he reached her, his smile sheepish as he rushed to explain, "I'm very sorry I was delayed. I was in the middle of a case and it ran over. Forgive me?" he asked, dimples set to stun and dazzling white teeth blinding her in their brilliance. He could seriously have given Lockhart a run for his money for _Witch __Weekly__'__s_ Best Smile award.

She, unlike the majority of the witch population, was looking for something more substantial than good looks in a man, even though (especially in Jonathan's case) they were definitely a plus.

She gave him a smile in return, although she doubted it reached anywhere near the wattage his had, and sat back down. He was very tall and appeared to be nicely built from what she could tell, but the way his eyes kept drifting to her chest as he settled into his seat was very disconcerting.

_Damn Ginny, and damn her 'tight-arsed, bosom-popping, can't breathe and look like a proper tart,' dress._

She decided to try and give him the benefit of the doubt and ordered another glass of wine before settling back, (figuratively) as she could barely move in the dress, much less get comfortable.

"So Jonathan, why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself," she said politely, as a fresh glass of wine was settled before her along with a lovely cheese and fruit tray.

"Well, my beautiful Hermione," he almost crooned as he leaned closer, and taking a grape from the plate began to lick it in what she was sure was intended to be a seductive manner, before gently biting it in half and winking at her.

_Was that supposed to be erotic? What did the wink signify exactly? Was she supposed to be imagining sharing it with him, or was he insinuating that he would do to her what he was doing to the grape? And if so, was it supposed to excite her? Was she expected to reciprocate somehow? Why, oh why, was there not a book that explained these things?_

Maybe she should write one.

Or at least read one ... or two.

Of course that was no help in her current situation … at all, so she just smiled politely and nibbled on a piece of cheese until he was finished molesting the grape.

"I've heard so much about you from your mates, but they drastically understated your beauty and completely neglected to tell me how absolutely divinely you fill out a dress," he winked again and she wondered why she felt angry instead of flattered at his compliment. She actually felt more than a little squeamish, and _not_ in a good way.

She discretely tried to cross her arms in front of her chest, but her actions only served to draw his attention back to the very part of her anatomy she was attempting to hide, and she huffed in annoyance.

"Thank you. I think," she mumbled in response to his compliment, unsure what the appropriate response was when someone complimented your physical attributes. Lavender would know, as she had never been shy about exposing her assets as often as possible. That was probably why Ron broke up with her, she wasn't very particular about who she exposed herself to and Ron has always been the possessive sort.

Hermione knew she should be flattered, she had never had anyone react to her body so positively before, of course she would have never been caught dead in a dress like this if Ginny hadn't practically blackmailed her into wearing it. It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to be appreciated for her physique, she just wanted to be liked for her mind more.

"So Hermione … Her ... myon … eee," he spoke almost teasingly, "May I call you 'Mione' or 'Nee'? They roll off the tongue better," he wiggled his tongue as he said it. She was pretty sure he was, once again, trying to look sexy, but his tongue resembled nothing more than a flobberworm in it's dying throes.

Definitely _not_ sexy.

The thin line of saliva that fell to the table was decidedly not sexy either.

"I would prefer you just call me Hermione actually," she hoped the faint disgust she was feeling didn't reflect on her face. "So Jonathan," she stressed his name, "where in the states are you from?"

At this point, she was fairly convinced that Jonathan only had one thing on his mind, but she would set her misgivings aside and make an effort for her friend's sake. If they discovered she'd cut out early, before even giving him a fair chance, she would never hear the end of it.

"You know," he said in a husky voice as he leaned in closer, "we don't have to do 'the thing;' the thing where we talk for hours trying to get to know each other to justify jumping into bed together. It's pretty obvious you're up for it," his eyes once again drifted down towards her abundant cleavage, and she could feel her face heating in embarrassment and anger. "So how about if we just cut to the chase and go somewhere and shag like hippogriffs," and then he winked. Again.

Anyone even remotely acquainted with Hermione Granger would have recognized the signs of an imminent explosion, but Jonathan was not one of these people, and continued to dig himself a deeper hole.

"What do you say luv? Wanna get outta here?" he asked as he reached across the small table to lightly brush a finger across the top of her breast; the trigger that finally released Hermione from all attempts at civility.

She stood up so fast he almost fell off his chair, but it was the crushing grip on his hand, a grip which currently had his fingers bent almost backwards and caused him to cry out in pain, that finally got his attention, and the attention of every other patron in the pub.

"Listen here you bloody pillock," she said, her teeth clenched and her magic almost crackling around her, "I did _not_ give you permission to touch me, I will _never_ give you permission to touch me. You will keep your filthy hands and your delusions of adequacy to yourself, do I make myself clear? If not, I will make it so that you aren't even able to wipe your arse for the next month," she had tried to speak quietly, but knew she had attracted attention. Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done for it.

"I have no idea what Harry or Ron told you about me, and rest assured I will find out, but if I never have to see you again it will be too soon, you disgusting cretin."

She threw his hand down and grabbed her cloak before storming towards the floo. She was headed to Grimmauld Place; she planned to make sure Harry knew how very ... _displeased_ she was with his choice of date, as well as Ginny's choice of attire. Her body was tense with barely suppressed anger and the hand holding her wand was itching to hex the bloody prat.

She finally activated the floo and as she stepped through, swore she heard a low chuckle in her wake.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER, WHERE ARE YOU?" she screamed as soon as she stepped into the empty kitchen.

**ooOoo**

Severus Snape continued to laugh softly as he watched the red faced man dust himself off and angrily exit the pub.

Who'd have thought that he, Potion's Master, ex-Death Eater and all around sarcastic bastard, would be impressed by Hermione Granger, the mousey little know-it-all Gryffindor. The girl ... woman actually, because there was no doubt she was no longer a little girl, had taken down a man twice her size with just her small hand and a few well aimed barbs.

It was really quite entertaining.

He had noticed her when she arrived of course, hell, every red blooded male in the place had noticed her arrival, and watched in amusement as she became more and more agitated the longer she waited (it had been very apparent by the number of times she looked at her watch that she was waiting for someone).

Had _he_ been scheduled to meet with the doe eyed beauty, he would have _not_ kept her waiting … the sodding fool.

He had known, from the moment the pretty boy walked in the door, that he only saw her full breasts (although he could definitely commiserate with the bloke on that count) so attractively displayed; he didn't even give her a chance to showcase her even larger intellect, which, as far as Severus was concerned, was her most appealing attribute.

Not that he didn't enjoy a beautiful witch, but those vapid females were a dime a dozen. Something he had come to discover for himself after his name had been cleared and his actions during the war revealed. Women suddenly began throwing themselves at him left and right, but they all lacked what he valued more than anything; a woman that could hold an intelligent conversation and think for herself.

Hermione Granger had proven herself to be just such a woman, to his immense surprise. Unfortunately, there was too much water under the bridge for her to ever see him as anything other than the man who tormented her and her friends for seven years ... well, six actually, he had still been healing when the trio went back to finish their final year. Afterward, he had opted to cash in on some of his new found fame to start his own potion's supply company and rarely saw any of his former charges.

He was done teaching idiotic children and being subjected to someone else's rules. The only master he planned to answer to ever again was himself.

It had been nice at first, to take advantage of the plethora of available witches anxious to bed the illusive spy and acclaimed war hero, but it had gotten old very quickly. The women were all eager, easy on the eyes, and he was happy to go along for the proverbial ride. He _was_ a man after all, a man that had not felt the heat of a woman's body in longer than he cared to remember.

So why shouldn't he reap some of the spoils of victory, as it were?

He thought he had found someone he might be interested in seeing on a regular basis, Clarissa, a renowned Cosmetic Healer from France that had caught his eye (or at least her double D's had) and she had been relatively intelligent (if somewhat vain) company, at first. She had badgered him into having his nose and teeth fixed, and after a particularly enthusiastic romp, he had grudgingly agreed. It wasn't until later, overhearing her discussing him with a fellow witch, that he discovered she had only done it so she could parade him around on her arm like a trophy at the annual Victory Ball.

He found himself surprisingly unaffected by the revelation; had politely thanked her for her services, in and out of bed, and informed her that it would be in her best interest to never contact him again. He had been led around by the nose enough in his lifetime, and had no intention of ever letting it happen again.

Especially not by a woman.

As they say: been there, done that, have the pensieve memories to prove it.

He truly had never cared what he looked like; he had always known he was not an attractive man by any stretch of the imagination, but even _he_ was surprised at the difference a smaller nose, straight white teeth and quality hair products could make to his appearance.

Evidently many witches agreed, if the renewed attention he received as a result was anything to go by.

After a while, he discovered that not one of the women he had bedded had an intelligent thought in their heads, and when the sex was over (no matter how good it was) there _has_ to be something else, or what's the bloody point? He didn't feel guilty for taking advantage of what was so blatantly offered, but his enthusiasm had since waned, and it had been years now since he had last bedded a woman.

Seeing Miss Granger, looking almost edible, had made him brutally aware of _exactly_ how long it had been.

He shook his head and finished his whiskey. No sense thinking about things that would never be. He had learned that lesson the hard way as well.


	2. Chapter 2

**And here comes bachelor number two.**

oOoOoOo

Hermione found herself, once again, sitting in the Three Broomsticks waiting for her 'date' for the evening. After that last fiasco, she didn't speak to Harry and Ginny for almost two weeks (despite their many heartfelt apologies, and Harry punching Jonathan the next morning at work) but she finally came around after Harry promised never to try and fix her up again.

Ginny, however, was a different story, and Hermione couldn't really hold Jonathan against her as she had only met the man once for about three minutes. Which was why, against her better judgment, she was here three and a half weeks after her last disastrous evening, waiting for a man Ginny swore was a sweetheart.

Hermione's only excuse was that she was … maybe … a little bit … lonely.

She had more money than she had ever dreamed of, a lovely spacious flat she had decorated herself, books that were still selling well, work that was very fulfilling (and, for the most part, taken seriously), she had two advanced degrees she was very proud of, good friends she enjoyed spending time with, she was healthy and moderately attractive ... but she still slept alone without a male in sight.

_And_ someday she wanted children.

All her friends were popping out kids left and right: Ginny and Harry had three already, Ron and Susan were pregnant with their third, George and Angela had two, Bill and Fleur were on their second and even Molly freaking Weasley was having another baby ... at her age!

Was it so hard to accept, that after years of playing godmother and favorite auntie to everyone else's child, that she would crave one of her own?

Unfortunately, she couldn't have a baby until she had a man, hence her agreeing to another blind date after she swore she would never do it again. She had, however, refused to let Ginny pick out her clothes this time, she had learned her lesson after the last time. She was wearing a lovely 'little black dress' that went to her knees, offered only a hint of cleavage and looked feminine and classy.

In her opinion anyway.

Ginny, however, had not been as complimentary. She had spent the hour before Hermione had to leave her flat trying to get her to raise the hem a few inches and lower the bodice a 'just a smidgen' so she didn't look so 'uptight.'

_Whatever._

Just because she didn't want to advertise her wares like a sleazy bint did not mean she was uptight ... well, not really.

Hermione glanced at the time again impatiently. Two minutes late. He was now two minutes late.

_Did no one wear a bloody watch anymore? Why agree on a time if you had no intention of actually showing up at that time? Why not just suggest an approximate time, like 'I'll meet you sometime between seven and half past?'_

At least that way she would be prepared to wait. Of course, she doubted she would ever agree to date someone who would be so unreliable, so it was probably a moot point.

_She_ was always on time ... well, she was usually at least ten minutes early, but that was just good manners, right? It didn't mean she was obsessive/compulsive or anything like that, even though it _had_ been suggested … a time (or twelve) over the years. She just liked being on time.

Which obviously Michael _did __not_, since he was now five minutes late.

She was interrupted from her internal monologue by someone patiently clearing their throat off to her left, and she looked up in surprise. She had been completely unaware of her surroundings and her red face reflected her embarrassment at being caught out.

So much for 'constant vigilance.'

"Hermione?" the man asked somewhat shyly, and Hermione nodded and stood, holding out her hand, which he shook limply.

Strike one. She absolutely _hated_ wet noodle handshakes, it either meant a man thought the woman was too delicate for a real handshake, or he didn't respect the woman enough to treat her as an equal.

Or he was gay, which she suspected was very much _not_ the case in this instance. If so, Ginny had some _major_ explaining to do.

She gave him a slightly less sincere smile and answered, "Yes, you must be Michael."

He nodded enthusiastically and took the seat across from the one she had recently vacated.

Strike two. _Would it have killed him to hold her chair out for her? Or at the very least, wait until she was seated before sitting down himself? Was chivalry completely dead?_

She realized that was a little hypocritical, considering she expected to be treated like an equal. But she wanted to be treated like an equal in _intellect_, but a lady in _manners_. _Was that so hard? Or too confusing?_ She really needed to stop with the inner monologuing or she would have the man tried and convicted before he even opened his mouth.

She took a moment to study her date as he perused the menu. He was relatively tall, had dark brown hair that was receding only slightly, a decent physique (although he was little on the thick side that would probably turn to flab in later years ... not that something that trivial bothered her) and he had hazel eyes that seemed kind and had yet to stray below her collarbone.

Plus one in his favor. No inappropriate leering on the first date. Of course, the real test would have been if she had worn her tart outfit again ... but she had no plans to ever wear that again. Ever.

_Okay, maybe never._

"So, Ginny tells me you're a writer," he asked politely after they had ordered their food and drinks. "Would I recognize anything you've written?"

Hermione, like a proud mum discussing her children, quickly warmed to the topic. She really, really enjoyed talking about her research, "I've actually written four books, one was focused on the symbiotic nature between healing potions and personalized charms," she explained enthusiastically, "I discovered that while a person's physiology is inherently tied to one's magic, if you were to manipulate either one separately it could enhance, or likewise, detract from one's ability to heal, especially when a healing potion is added to the mix."

Hermione was just getting warmed up. "So I experimented with adding a bit of a person's magical essence into each potion and then tweaked the charm to react to that individual ..."

She looked up and saw the familiar glazed look so common in Harry and Ron when she discussed something even remotely technical, and sighed. Obviously his question had just been a polite query instead of any real interest … and she had bored him to tears.

_Great! She really was incapable of having a normal discussion. _

Using her old fallback, she tried to dredge up what she hoped was a sufficient amount of sincerity.

"Enough about my book, how about those Bulgarians?" she asked with as much false enthusiasm as she could muster. He, however lit up like a bloody Christmas tree and was off. She was filled with a growing dismay, but pasted a brave smile on her face and bit her tongue.

He began to quote statistics, players names, and … blah, blah, blah … something or other … some crazy move that won the game … somewhere … maybe … blah, blah, blah … Ronski Feint … blah, blah, blah … traded for Romanoffsky … blah, blah, blah.

She was having flashbacks to her entire seven years at Hogwarts. Quidditch, Quidditch, and more Quidditch.

_Was there a single wizard out there that was able to discuss anything besides frigging Quidditch?_

Evidently not Michael.

She had two lovely glasses of wine, a delicious filet, a decadent chocolate mousse, and a coffee … all while he continued to drone on about Quidditch.

She smiled in all the appropriate places, and 'oohed' and 'aahhed' as required (at least, she hoped she did it in the right places, she wasn't exactly sure). She must have been succeeding because he continued on uninterrupted for hours (or days, she wasn't exactly sure).

She was pretty sure her brain had melted after the first ten minutes but was convinced she was expressing suitable interest. Hermione suspected she resembled one of those silly smiling bobble head dolls muggles loved to put on the dash of their cars, and suppressed an inelegant snort at the thought.

Michael did stop once, however, when she smiled inappropriately at what was apparently a retelling of his favorite player dying in a fatal Quidditch accident.

She was pretty sure she convincingly talked herself out of that faux paus.

She attempted to pay more attention after that, but it wasn't easy.

It was with a lightened heart, a blazing headache and ringing ears, that she realized their dinner was finished and she would be saved from having to listen for very much longer. It wasn't until he made his final comment that she ended the evening.

"You know Hermione," he said excitedly, "if you wrote a book about Quidditch you might actually be able to make a name for yourself as a writer, and maybe even make some money at it. I doubt many people bought that other book you wrote about healing stuff, not much interest there is there?" he added with a laugh and a wink.

_No. He. Did. Not._

The bastard.

"In fact," he added, completely oblivious to the ice crystals forming around the table, "I can help you with it if you'd like. I know more than a fair bit about Quidditch. Actually," he continued, unfazed by her increasing rigidity, "I'd thought about writing a book myself, but I've never been good at writing, so we would be a perfect team. You could do the writing and I'll provide all the material."

Hermione tried so very, very hard to keep her face from showing exactly what she thought about his suggestion.

_Write __a __bloody __book __about __bloody __Quidditch__?_

_Might __make __a __bloody __name __for __herself__?_

The great bloody clod wouldn't know a good book if it bit him in his fantastically dull arse.

_She_ write about _Quidditch__?_ Ron and Harry would laugh themselves into an early grave at the very idea.

Even Ron knew better than to suggest that to her, but then again this man didn't know her, nor had he stopped talking long enough to even _try_ and get to know her. And how he had managed to eat every bite of his meal, when she could have sworn he had barely even taken a breath, was beyond her.

Strike bloody three. He was a moronic, uninformed, insensitive, git.

She smiled (or at least she attempted to smile, but based on the perplexed look on his face she doubted she was successful) and told him that she had suddenly come down with 'a splitting headache' and wanted to just go home and lie down.

He seemed a bit downcast at her news, but settled the bill while she made preparations to leave.

She was just putting on her coat (Merlin forbid he offer to help) when he approached her from behind to whisper in her ear, "So how about I walk you home and we get to know each other better? It's hard to find a bird that loves Quidditch as much as I do and I'd really like to spend some more time with you. Maybe we could even talk about my book idea. After."

Hermione was completely floored at his audacity _and_ his absolute misinterpretation of events.

_Were all men this completely clueless, or just the ones dating her?_

She took a deep breath, and a step back, before answering.

"Thank you, no. I'm sorry if you got the impression I was even remotely interested in extending this date any farther, but I assure you, you are quite mistaken. Thank you for dinner, it was lovely," she answered briskly as she headed towards the floo, eager to escape another disastrous evening. She planned to let Ginny know, in no uncertain terms, that she was forbidden from _ever_ setting her up again.

_Did any of her friends even know her?_

Based on the men they had thought she'd be compatible with she was beginning to doubt it. How in the bloody blazes Ginny could think she would be even remotely compatible with this man was a complete and utter mystery to her. He was like a clone of Ron (only not as cute, although in all fairness, he did have slightly better table manners) and look how _that_ had worked out.

It had been an unmitigated disaster.

She was halfway to the floo, when she felt her arm being pulled and she quickly turned to see who was touching her without permission.

It was Michael, smiling shyly down at her, "Hermione," he said softly, "I just wanted to thank you for meeting me and to tell you what a nice time I had," he paused, "I was hoping we could do it again soon. How about Friday night?" He leaned in as if to kiss her good night, but she jumped away from him ... and into the lap of the man behind her.

She felt a large pair of hands circle her waist, but was too distracted by Michael's words to concentrate on the mystery man behind her. In fact, she was so incensed at his obtuseness she didn't even look back at him, just apologized quickly before getting to her feet and glaring at the obviously delusional man in front of her.

"Michael, as I said, thank you for dinner, but I _really_ don't think we have anything even remotely in common and it would be a great disservice to both of us to even attempt to go out again," she turned to make her escape, when he stopped her.

Again.

"But Hermione, I thought we were getting on so well ..." she cut him off before he could say anything further.

"Michael," she said each word clearly and succinctly so that he would not misunderstand her words, "I. Hate. Quidditch."

He gasped and looked at her as if she were an alien life form (which to be honest, she was beginning to wonder about herself) and when he finally spoke, it was with all the indignant, self righteous anger so prevalent in die-hard sports fans, "Don't like Quidditch? Are you barmy? Who doesn't like Quidditch? No wonder you aren't a very successful author if you can't even write about something useful or interesting. No one reads that wonky crap about healing magic and essential charms or whatever rubbish it was you were spouting on about."

Hermione tried. She really did.

She tried to keep her cool and not hex his bits off; she tried to remain calm so she wouldn't turn him into a slug; she tried to convince herself his words weren't either offensive or insulting. But to compare her life's work to a bloody game, was just too much, even for her.

"Listen, you addle-brained, self-important berk, I have more intelligence in my little finger than you possess in your entire body, _despite_ the fact that I can't stand a game where grown adults chase after a small golden object while trying to avoid being slammed into by flying metal balls, _and_ other players. This very _sensible_ game that is played in all types of inclement weather while suspended on a flimsy wooden stick hundreds of meters above the ground ..." she paused to take a breath, conscious that she, once again, had the attention of every patron in the place. But she was too riled up to stop.

" … just to get another ball into one of three small hoops without having the bloody thing shot right back at you by the person defending said hoops. And you say I'm barmy," she lowered her voice and glared at the dumbfounded man. "The day Quidditch becomes the measure by which intelligence is measured, is the day I hand in my wand and become a muggle," she started to turn away, but stopped at the last minute, unable to help herself even knowing it was wrong to do.

"And for your information, I have written _four_ books, and am considered quite a successful author in my own right. Or at least that's what my five figure royalty checks tell me; but then again, you might already know that if you had ever stepped foot inside a bookstore. Good night."

She really needed to learn to keep her mouth shut.

And find better friends.

Or maybe she should just accept that she was destined to grow old and have a house full of cats. She would be the cat lady, like old Mrs. Figg on Harry's street.

_Oh, bloody, fucking, buggering, hell. Maybe she should just quit while she was ahead._

She stepped into the floo with a strangely familiar laugh following her.

"GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY POTTER, WHERE IN THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?" she screamed, as she plopped down in the nearest chair.

**ooOoo**

Severus laughed as he found himself, yet again, watching Hermione very successfully put another fool in his place.

He had been surprised to see her after the last incident, suspecting she would have been too embarrassed to show her face in here again. But he shouldn't have underestimated the ex-Gryffindor. She was nothing if not tenacious.

And he was glad. It gave him another chance to observe her undetected.

He took a sip of the fiery drink, his mind pleasantly preoccupied with images of her in that little black number she had been wearing tonight.

It was much more in keeping with her understated style and less ostentatious fashion sense, and he wondered why she had been wearing that other (while undoubtedly eye-catching) completely uncharacteristic ensemble from last time. As a red blooded male, he had greatly appreciated the dress' finer attributes, but he much preferred her as she was dressed this evening.

Less desperate trollop on the prowl, more elegant, sophisticated career woman on the lookout.

The dress, which more than adequately covered her form, instead drew the eye to her slender neck, creamy shoulders, and shapely calves and allowed one's imagination to wonder what delectable curves were hidden beneath the deceptively demure folds.

Lucky for him, he had a very fertile imagination.

And an excellent memory.

He shifted in his seat as his manhood twitched in remembrance of her plump bottom momentarily taking up residence in his lap earlier; his hands automatically settling on her small waist to steady her (or pull her closer). Her apology was offered without even a glance in his direction, which in hindsight was probably a good thing. Seeing him might have thrown her off her stride and he had quite enjoyed the little scenes that were becoming commonplace after her 'dates.'

He would have to keep coming around – dinner _and_ a show – Merlin knows he could use a good laugh.

He ignored the twinge of jealousy that it was not _him_ she was meeting, especially knowing that one day she would find a wizard that she _did_ like, and she wouldn't be going home alone.

Those thoughts were best left buried.

He had been hopeful once before, a long time ago, and had his heart broken. She had chosen someone else over him. Hermione would most likely do the same.

He wanted to approach her, but he just wasn't sure he could. She probably hated him after the way he had treated her for so long, even after _she_ had been the one to return to the Shrieking Shack, and realizing he was still alive, had transported him to the Hospital Wing before collapsing in exhaustion herself.

Severus had found out later that he had been minutes from death, and he had never thanked her.

How could he when he was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was still alive when he had expected to die with Voldemort.

He had been _prepared_ to die.

He had _wanted_ to die.

If he was dead, then the pain and lonliness could finally end.

The funny thing about what one thinks they want, is that in time, one eventually realizes that wasn't what one wanted at all.

Once his duty had been dispatched (and his debt paid to her son) Lily began to loosen her hold on his heart. He didn't forget her, she had been, after all, his first real friend, but time and distance had finally allowed him some perspective. He spent months recovering from the snake bite, and months coming to terms with the reality of his 'love' for Lily.

He realized belatedly, that he had allowed his 'first crush' to take on epic proportions in the face of his guilt at causing her death, and had convinced himself she was the love of his life. Surviving had allowed him to put those demons to rest, and instilled a fresh desire to actually 'live' for once ... not just survive, not just accepting whatever scraps he was given ... he wanted to live life to the fullest.

Hence his debauchery and drinking for an entire year. Unfortunately, he couldn't take that time, or his actions, back. No matter how much he may want to.

And he had never gotten the chance to thank the brave Gryffindor that had come to his rescue.

The brave, beautiful, extremely intelligent, and incredibly sexy, Gryffindor.

But he would someday soon, and maybe then, they could move on ... together?


	3. Chapter 3

**As a few reviewers have mentioned, the first ten chapters are pretty much the same except for some editing and a few small changes. Only the last five chapters are new. I apologize if that caused any confusion. ****Hope you like the story anyway.**

**Huge thanks again to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

Hermione tried not to fidget as she took another sip of wine. She had opted for a black pencil skirt and silk blouse in emerald-green for this (her last, she had since decided) blind date. It had been a month since her disastrous dinner with Michael and she had sworn off any more fix-ups. Unfortunately, her publisher Elise, who had sworn she would 'just love' the son of one of her oldest and dearest friends, had begged, pleaded and in desperation, finally guilted her into coming.

Apparently, Dee (what in the hell kind of name was that anyway?) was not only attractive, but very intelligent, sweet and obscenely wealthy. Hermione wondered why, if he was as wonderful as advertised, he needed to be set up on a blind date?

But, according to Elise, his parents were worried he was becoming too focused on his work, and they wanted grandchildren, something she sympathized with on both counts.

So, here she was again. Back to the scene of the crime as it were.

He still had eight minutes before he was late, so she used the time to look around the pub at the other patrons.

It was emptier than usual, even for a Thursday night, one of the main reasons she always chose that night to eat here. There was a couple she didn't recognize in the corner having a private (and apparently intimate; if his hand under her skirt was anything to judge by) conversation; a man at the bar staring off into the distance, lost in his own thoughts, and a man in the corner she couldn't make out because he had a menu covering his face.

Just as she began to wonder if that was whom she was scheduled to meet, the door of the pub opened and in walked a tall, very attractive blonde. He met her eyes and walked towards her with the single-minded determination that confirmed he was her intended date. She tried very hard to contain her look of utter disbelief as he sat across from her and offered up a tentative smile.

"Hello Hermione," he said smoothly, his voice betraying only a hint of his nervousness at her reaction, "You're looking well."

"You're Dee?" she asked in surprise, which was quickly turning to anger at being duped. "Dee? Really?"

"Yes," he answered, embarrassed.

"Seriously?" she asked again, her frustration mounting. "Are you kidding me Draco? Why the subterfuge?" she asked, her mouth pinched and her shoulders tense.

He had the decency to blush at her accusation, "Elise is my godmother, that's what's she's been calling me since I was born. I just asked her not to reveal who I was. I thought you might not have come otherwise."

"Ya think?" she asked almost petulantly, visions of intelligent, good-looking babies now fading back into obscurity.

She wanted to bang her head against the table at the futility of it all. She knew he heard her angry mutterings, but she had ceased to care. She felt like she was the butt of some great big cosmic joke at the moment.

"First I get the letch, _then_ I get the walking Quidditch Encyclopedia that makes even Ron look uninformed, and now I get _you_," she said in a tired voice, "You!"

"Come on Hermione," he said, his cheeks pink from her less than flattering words, "I'm not that bad. I'm intelligent, incredibly handsome, have a wicked sense of humor and I'm filthy, stinking rich. What more could you ask for in a man?" he gave her a searching look.

Before she could answer, the waitress arrived and took their order. She decided to hear him out, or simply hex him for wasting her time, she wasn't sure which yet.

"Draco," she said succinctly, as soon as her fresh drink had arrived, "you're gay."

"SSSHHH!" he looked around the near empty pub in fear, "Can you _please_ not say that so loudly," he lowered his voice and leaned closer, "Besides, I am _not_ gay!"

"You are _sooo_ gay _Dee_," she said firmly.

"I am _not_, and could you _please_ lower your voice!" he said in a harsh whisper.

She cast a _Muffliato_ around their table and answered him in exasperated disbelief, "Seriously Draco? How many times did I catch you at Hogwarts with Blaise?"

He laughed nervously and ran his hand through his silky locks as she watched covetously (for the silky smooth hair, not for Draco himself) as he gave her an evasive answer, "That was just us experimenting between dry spells. It didn't mean anything."

She cocked an eyebrow and adopted an expression that would have made Snape proud and snickered, "So what about two months ago in the alley behind Madame Malkin's?"

He was startled, but quickly schooled his expression back into a serene mask, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're referring to Hermione. I haven't … "

"Oh, can it Draco, I know it was you. I suspect the other party was Mr. Zabini, although as I couldn't see his _face_, I couldn't swear by it," she added tersely, angry at his continued attempts to deny what she had seen with her own two eyes.

"I was drunk and he took advantage of me," he added hastily, clearly not thinking his answer through as she cut his flimsy excuses to threads.

"So that's why _he_ was the one bent over the barrel while you plowed ... mmpphh," her words were cut off when he put a hand over her mouth to shut her up.

"Okay, okay. We ran into each other and one thing lead to another, and since neither of us are seeing anyone at the moment it was just a tussle for old times sake," his words were delivered in a calm voice as if he could care less what she _imagined_ she had seen, when he really knew better.

She decided to call him on it.

"Soooo," she asked, her voice purposely casual, "Last month when I saw you in the backroom at Flourish and Blotts, again with Blaise Zabini, that was a one-off as well?"

He put his head in his hands and sighed heavily, "How in the bloody hell did you see me in those places? What were you doing there anyway?" he asked in a whiny voice redolent of the younger Draco from Hogwarts.

She blushed slightly as she debated lying, but decided she owed him the truth since she had just basically 'outed' him. "I was actually trying to avoid two people I had hoped to never see again," she had been dodging Jonathan when she raced into the alley to avoid him, and Michael when she escaped to the back room of the book shop, "Two _very __bad_ blind dates actually," she added sheepishly.

He took a large sip of his mead and met her eyes over the rim of his mug, humor replacing the anger that had previously filled the silvery depths. "So, I take it I'm your _third_ bad blind date then?" he asked with a self-depreciating smile.

"It would seem so," her answering smile was wider than his as she asked the obvious question.

"Why the cloak and dagger Draco? It's not like homosexuality is such a big deal in the wizarding world," she wondered why he bothered sneaking around instead of just having an open relationship with the man he was obviously interested in.

He ran his hands through his hair again in frustration, "My parents," he mumbled almost too low for her to hear.

"Your parents?" she wasn't sure she understood.

"Yes," he said in aggravation, "My parents. They want me to marry a nice pureblood witch and produce the requisite Malfoy heir and a spare if possible. My mother is practically salivating at the idea of grandchildren."

She did feel sorry for Draco, not being able to be honest with your parents about your own sexuality because of responsibilities and family duty must be tough. Besides, that obscene wealth had to pass on to _someone_.

"What about surrogacy?" she asked guilelessly.

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"Surrogacy," she said again, in case he hadn't heard her clearly the first time.

"_Again_," he said, this time with slightly more heat, _"What?"_

It had never occurred to her that he wouldn't know what she was referring to, she had assumed (although thinking about it she had never heard it discussed in the wizarding world) that it was used by witches as well, but evidently, if it was, it was not talked about.

"Couples that aren't able to have a child, for whatever reason, can hire a surrogate," she saw his puzzled look and elaborated further, "a woman you impregnate with your sperm who will carry your child for you."

"Eeww!" he answered in disgust, his face pinched as if he had swallowed something vile.

"Real mature Draco," she answered testily, "For people unable to conceive the traditional way for whatever reason, surrogacy provides an alternative to adoption, and the baby will have at least the father's DNA."

"DN what?" he asked, and she bit back the impatient retort that had almost slipped from her mouth. It had always irritated her that wizards had absolutely no idea about even the basic tenants of chemistry, biology or human physiology unless they were Healers or Potions Masters. An average ten-year old muggle knew more about how the human body worked than most adults wizards did, and it was that lack of knowledge (and arrogance) that she had striven so hard to address and correct in her books.

"DNA," she said, unconsciously switching to lecture mode, "I won't even bother telling you the real name because you will never remember it and it's hell to pronounce, but it's basically the building blocks that make up who we are."

At his blank look she elucidated further, "DNA strands contain the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all living organisms, it's essentially what determine our hair color, eye color, and so on and is used quite extensively by forensic scientists as a way to prosecute criminals based on saliva, skin, hair, blood or semen samples found at crime scenes, it's actually quite fascinating."

Hermione stopped when she saw the familiar glazed look in Draco's eyes and sighed.

_Was it really too much to ask that she didn't bore even her gay dates to death?_

"Anyway," she simplified, "it just means that any baby you have using your sperm is more likely to have the Malfoy hair and nose."

"Oh. Why didn't you just say that in the first place?" he looked around for the waitress to order another round of drinks, and she wearily rubbed her eyes. She was starting to think that being a cat lady wouldn't be so bad; at least they wouldn't look at her as if she was speaking gobbledygook.

Neither spoke again until a round of appetizers and fresh drinks was delivered to the table.

"Draco, I get that you don't want your parent's to know you're gay, but why me? Surely being gay has to be better than telling them you are dating a muggleborn, and me especially?" she had no illusions about what the Malfoys thought of her, war heroine or not.

He popped a prawn into his mouth before he answered, his countenance thoughtful and tense, "I think my parents may suspect that I prefer men, but I was hoping they would just be so happy knowing I was out with a woman, that it really wouldn't matter who it was," he winked cheekily at her, "even if it's the woman who has the purebloods in an uproar after her latest book. Nicely done that, by the way."

The three glasses of wine she had consumed had gone a long way towards mellowing her, so his words failed to incite her normal defensive fervor when it came to her research. Besides, she couldn't sense any hostility or resentment in his tone, so she was happy to avoid an argument. She also decided it was safe to remove the privacy charm.

"Draco, I think, given the option between me, the bookish muggleborn that helped destroy Voldemort and has thrown thousands of years of pureblood teachings and beliefs into question, and Blaise Zabini, your handsome, but male, pureblood lover …" she left her sentence hanging; the answer obvious.

'Yeah, put that way, I guess you're right," he paused and looked around the pub which had filled up since his arrival an hour earlier, "I just dread telling them."

She reached across and squeezed his hand at his forlorn look, feeling a momentary sense of solidarity with the Slytherin she spent her childhood hating, "If I have learned nothing else in the past ten years, it's that you have to be true to yourself, regardless of whether it's the most popular or easiest option available. Otherwise, you'll ultimately be miserable."

He smiled and they settled into a more comfortable silence as they ate, each lost in their own thoughts. It wasn't until they heard Draco's name being called that they looked up and saw Blaise approaching their table. He hesitated as he looked between the two of them, and a silent conversation seemed to be taking place between he and Draco that Hermione obviously wasn't privy to, but highlighted the true closeness of the couple.

"Hello Draco, Miss Granger," he nodded politely to her as he stood awkwardly next to Draco, his eyes radiating both suspicion and hurt as he struggled to come to terms with the idea of his lover being on a date with someone else, and a woman at that.

"Good evening Blaise," she answered quietly, unsure what to say to this man that she had seen more of than she _ever_ wanted to. He was radiating hurt and betrayal from every pore.

Draco sighed heavily, "It's not what it looks like, luv," he said softly, but Blaise simply looked away, his jaw clenched tight and his face emotionless once more.

The Slytherin mask.

"Baby," Draco cajoled, trying to get his lover's attention, but Blaise would not be moved, and frankly, Hermione could hardly blame him. Assuming she ever found a lover or significant other, she wouldn't take too kindly to finding him on a date with someone else.

"It was a pleasure to see you again Miss Granger, Draco," Blaise said, sounding anything but pleased, as he turned to exit the pub.

Draco closed his eyes, pinched his nose as if he had a headache, and muttered, "Bugger," before standing up and grabbing Blaise, spinning him around and snogging him senseless in front of the entire (albeit mostly empty) room. She doubted this was how Draco wanted to 'come out' to his parents, but she thought it was incredibly romantic as far as grand gestures went. Her eyes were unaccountably wet at the realization that she may never have what they, and the rest of her friends, had.

Deciding her presence at this point would only make things worse, she left some money on the table for her portion of the meal, gathered her things and left via the floo. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered the absence of the deep chuckle that had followed her the two previous times.

"Ginny? Harry? Are you busy?" she called quietly into the homey kitchen.

**ooOoo**

Severus watched as Hermione left the pub, laughter the farthest thing from his mind as he remembered her tear filled eyes as she passed his table, his hand almost subconsciously reaching for her before he realized it and quickly pulled back.

He looked towards where his godson was leaving with Blaise Zabini, their hands joined and their countenances happy, and tried to rein in his bitter thoughts.

He knew Draco had been involved with Blaise back in school, but thought it had just been a phase; something quite common in Slytherin, where sexuality, in all its myriad forms was explored.

He should have suspected something was amiss when Lucius complained about his son's lack of marriage prospects, and consequently, his failure in producing an heir. He doubted Lucius would be pleased by the news, but knew it would be preferable to discovering that his son had been seeing the 'Muggleborn Menace' as Lucius had dubbed Hermione, much to Severus' displeasure.

He felt a stirring of anger at his godson for his callous treatment of Hermione. It was obvious she felt slighted, and maybe even hurt by Draco's defection, if her tears were any indication, and he longed to follow his godson, confront him and demand he make things right. But another part of him (the part that was becoming increasingly more vocal as time went on) was secretly pleased that she was still single and hypothetically, if not actually, available.

Hermione's face had begun to feature regularly in not just his fantasies, but lately, even his dreams, and he was finding it harder and harder to keep his distance from the incredible witch.

Despite the controversial nature of her last book, he found her research not only enlightening and intriguing, but a breath of fresh air in the staid and stagnant environs of wizarding Britain; a much-needed revelation to shake up the old bastions of pureblood bigotry. Her other books had also surprised and impressed him; something very few people had ever managed to do in his life.

He just wished he was brave enough to tell her.

Prior to her appearance in the pub a few months ago, he had not seen her since the Victory Ball seven years ago. She had arrived with Weasley but they appeared to be fighting, and she had (quite literally) run into him, knocking them both down. She apologized profusely and as he held her hand to help her up, felt an unfamiliar spark. And for one brief second, he met her eyes and the world had seemed to stop. Before he could say anything, however, Weasley had come bumbling around the corner, and whatever that _thing_ was, had disappeared as soon as she dropped his hand and the connection had been broken.

It had shaken him to his very core. Until then, he had always believed that the only woman he would ever feel a connection to would be Lily.

Sex, yes. That was strictly physical, but something deeper … no.

That had been the last ball he had attended, and he had purposely avoided any venue she would likely be at. He had, in time, managed to put her out of his mind, or at least that's what he had told himself.

Until, that was, he read her book on healing potions and discovered her absolute brilliance.

And he had been proud. Proud that the annoying girl who had spent six years reciting from textbooks verbatim, had finally learned to think for herself. And what glorious thoughts she had. Her discovery was beautiful in its simplicity, but proved, without a doubt, that new blood and a fresh perspective was what was needed if Britain ever planned to evolve and grow. Hermione had set tongues wagging and caused some of the greatest minds in both Potions and Healing to take notice.

He had then read her other books and fell in love, figuratively, with the amazing mind that had created such incredible works.

Even her first book, while telling more of his story than he was initially comfortable with having revealed to the public, had been written with incredible accuracy and in a way that was easily read by all. Her compassion for the loss of life and the suffering of others was evident on each page, and her impassioned fervor to highlight mistakes made and lessons that needed to be learned to prevent something like that happening again resulted in some new legislation in the Ministry regarding reparations.

It was at once a blunt commentary on the inherent flaws in the system and a heartrending tribute to the brave men and women who sacrificed everything in the name of freedom. He had personally witnessed more than one person in tears as they read her book, and reading about Lily's sacrifice and the choices he had made in the name of love, had enabled him to finally let her go. Seeing her honest interpretation of events had forced him to look inside himself and accept that he had held on to a memory long enough.

His debt had been paid, and he could finally start the process of healing ... and letting go.

Reading Hermione's books had allowed him to learn about the woman she had become since leaving Hogwarts, the resourceful, tenacious, insightful, argumentative, compassionate, honest, painstakingly loyal and fiercely protective woman he couldn't get out of his mind.

The woman who had just had her heart broken.

The woman he could never have.


	4. Chapter 4

**Much thanks to my Beta: Volyhasnonose!**

Hermione stared out the window of her flat as she contemplated the invitation she had just received to Draco and Blaise's Bonding Ceremony.

After their disastrous 'date,' she and Draco had developed a friendship of sorts, and even Blaise (once he got over his anger at 'Draco's deception) spoke to her now. They got together every few weeks and had dinner while debating everything from pureblood dogma to muggle technology (civilly, of course) and she found it not only refreshing, but it offered a nice break from her increasing loneliness.

Draco and Blaise had both offered to fix her up with their friends, but she had politely declined. Her days of going on blind dates were over. She would either meet a man on her own or she wouldn't.

Simple as that.

Only, it wasn't that simple. When the majority of her time was spent either holed up in the library researching, holed up in her lab experimenting or holed up in her study writing, her opportunities to meet eligible men were severely limited. Although, she did still manage to run into Michael regularly (which irritated her to no end, especially as he seemed to have a selective memory about how well their date went). He continued to ask her out no matter how often she refused, politely or otherwise.

No, her current source of disquiet was that she knew Severus Snape would be at the ceremony, and she hadn't allowed herself to think about him in a very long time.

Eight years ago, she had (literally) collided with him, and _something_ (to this day, she still wasn't sure what) had happened between them. Her fingers had tingled for hours after their encounter. Distracting her from her argument with Ron over the most recent rumors of _yet another_ woman he had supposedly cheated on her with.

That was the night she had finally, in desperation, ended things with Ron once and for all.

Her mother had always told her that 'where there's smoke, there's fire,' and there _always_ seemed to be a lot of smoke around Ron (and hot air, but she immediately suppressed that childish thought). Surprisingly, a few months later, when she learned that Ron's latest fling was pregnant and they were planning to get married, she had barely felt even a twinge of pain or regret. Now, she quite liked the quiet and gentle witch. Which had amazed everyone.

Severus had haunted her dreams for weeks after that encounter, but reading about his many women, none lasting longer than a week at most, had cooled her ardor for the enigmatic and darkly sexy wizard. She didn't begrudge him a little fun after twenty years of spying and risking his life, but the fact that he couldn't seem to commit to a single one of them, solidified her belief that he was still pining for Lily and he would not allow any woman to have any part of him except his body.

That thought made her sad, especially as she had discovered while researching her book, that Lily wasn't the saint everyone portrayed her to be. Lily, she had discovered, was somewhat vain, and very unforgiving towards her supposed 'best friend,' yet she had no trouble overlooking James and Sirius' many, many, childish and cruel pranks, even those aimed at her old friend, Severus. Hermione had a hard time _not_ printing those facts in her book, but it wouldn't have been fair to either Severus or Harry.

She wanted Severus to see Lily for whom and what she really was ... human. Not a goddess, not a shining example of womanhood, not even a paragon of virtue, just a woman who made mistakes like everyone else. A woman who gave her life for her son. James Potter's son.

But Hermione couldn't write those things. Not only would it hurt Severus, but it would have belittled his sacrifices and made them seem trite. She couldn't do that to him, the wizarding world owed him an enormous debt for his bravery during the war, he didn't deserve the inevitable censure or mockery if it was revealed that he had pined for (in her opinion) an unworthy woman that had never really cared for him.

Hermione decided to put him out of her mind and her heart, and move on. She would not allow herself to care for someone (and she _had_ come to care for the intelligent, incredibly brave, undeniably loyal, sarcastically witty, and yet sometimes cruel man, as she researched and wrote his story) especially if he could never love her in return. And even though she thought Severus Snape would be as perfect for her as anyone she had ever met, she knew it would never be, so she avoided him.

Now she would be in the same room with him, and her nerves were already jumbled and she hadn't even seen him yet. What would she be like in his presence? Maybe she shouldn't go after all and just save herself the drama.

But Draco would be hurt if she didn't attend, despite his parent's disdain for her research, and obvious disdain for _her_ just on principle, she couldn't disappoint him. She would go and just avoid Severus Snape.

That would work.

**ooOoo**

Severus had not seen Hermione since that night she had left the Three Broomsticks in tears, almost three months ago, despite hours spent every Thursday in the same booth, watching for her.

He missed her.

He had cornered Draco and gotten the real story of what had occurred that evening, and Severus had been secretly relieved that Hermione hadn't been pining away for Draco (and in fact, hadn't even been _dating_ Draco) but seemed genuinely happy for the couple, which made _him_ happier than he had a right to be.

Lucius and Narcissa had been very displeased initially when Draco came clean about his relationship with Blaise, but had since come to accept that Draco loved him, and a 'surrogate' was being considered later down the road (although where Draco got _that_ idea was a mystery). Narcissa, in keeping with the Malfoy pretentiousness, had taken it upon herself to throw a huge reception for her son and his partner while the ceremony itself would be a private gathering with only a few intimate friends and family present, himself included.

Neither Lucius nor Narcissa were pleased that the 'Muggleborn Menace' had been invited to the reception, but had agreed to bury the figurative hatchet for Draco's sake, at least for one day, and Severus was now eagerly looking forward to seeing the beautiful Gryffindor again.

Maybe this time he would work up the nerve to actually talk with her.

Or ask her to dance.

That could work.

**ooOoo**

The day of the ceremony dawned bright and clear, and Hermione awoke after a very vivid and incredibly erotic dream starring Severus Snape, which didn't help her already frayed nerves. She needed to be elusive and distant today. She needed to be coolly polite. She needed to keep her hormones under control and her imagination tucked securely away.

She needed to stay far, far away from him.

In the spirit of fair play and compromise, she had solicited Draco's help with her attire, and he had been more than happy to assist her. She would have found his apparent disdain for her taste in clothes insulting if he were anyone else, but Draco, regardless of his other failings, had an impeccable eye for fashion and she truly wanted to look her best.

For Draco's sake ... not for Severus Snape.

Mostly.

She had initially planned to wear one of her muggle gowns, but decided that it would be just one more thing the Malfoys would hold against her; another facet of her inherent 'muggleness' and one more thing that set her apart. And while she normally would have gladly told them both to 'sod off' and worn what she bloody well pleased, she didn't want any trouble on Draco's special day.

So she adopted the 'when in Rome' theory and bought a set of dress robes at the boutique Narcissa frequented.

She doubted they would have even let her in the door if not for Draco's presence, but to even her untrained eye, she had to admit that the clothes were exquisite, and she ended up buying three outfits that cost more than the entire rest of her wardrobe combined. Used to draping her sumptuous fabrics over the more willowy figures of her upper class pureblood clientele, Madame Celeste had been excited to be able to design a dress to compliment Hermione's far more 'earthy' curves.

It took Draco twenty minutes, and a glass of champagne, to convince Hermione that Madame Celeste meant it as a compliment and was not calling her a plump cow with plebeian ancestors.

The resulting gown had been nothing short of spectacular, and Hermione had never felt more feminine than she did in this dress. It was a gorgeous deep copper color that highlighted the gold flecks in her eyes and hair, and flowed along her curves in a waterfall of the softest silk. Even Draco had whistled when he had seen the final product, admitting that were he not solidly gay, and madly committed to Blaise, he would seriously consider bedding her.

She supposed she was flattered, in a weird and completely disturbing sort of way.

An hour-long soak in a milk bath to soften her skin, a very thorough depilatory spell, a deep conditioning to give her curls an extra shine, and a light dusting of make-up later, and she was ready to go.

Looking better than she ever had (if she did say so herself) she apparated to Malfoy Manor, making sure to straighten her slightly windblown hair before walking towards the main doors.

Just because she had decided to stay away from Severus, didn't mean she didn't want him to notice her. She was a woman after all (albeit a very insecure and slightly neurotic one).

She was only a few minutes late to the reception, and pointedly ignored the tangible silence that followed her arrival. Evidently, the pureblood snobs still had not forgiven her for blowing holes in their supremacy rhetoric. She, however, held her head high and refused to make eye contact with anyone. She busied herself looking for the happy couple, ignoring both the butterflies in her stomach and the barely concealed looks of disdain from some of the other guests.

She grabbed a glass of excellent champagne from a passing tray (nothing but the best would do for the heir to the Malfoy fortune) and finally spotted Draco and Blaise across the room. Even she had to admit that they looked blissfully happy as they conversed with Draco's parents, and she was pleased for her friends, if not a little jealous. Knowing proper etiquette required that she thank the host and hostess as well as congratulate the happy couple, she took a deep fortifying breath and made her way over to the group.

It wasn't until she was almost upon them, that she locked eyes with the man standing to Lucius' right. It was none other than Severus Snape.

_Fuck __my __life__!_

She was about a half a second from turning around, when Draco spotted her and pulled her into an enthusiastic hug before passing her off to Blaise, who gave her an embarrassed smile and a gentle squeeze as he whispered encouragement into her ear. It was no secret that the Malfoys despised her, and he lauded her bravery for 'being the sole lion in the snake pit, and looking damn good while doing it.'

His words gave her a much needed boost of confidence, or bravado. Either worked.

"Congratulations Draco. Blaise," she decided to just grab the proverbial bull by the horns, ignore her traitorous heartbeat (which was racing too fast for her liking) and get the obligatory greetings out of the way.

"Lord and Lady Malfoy, the manor looks lovely. Thank you for inviting me," she plastered what she hoped was a gracious smile on her face and waited for them to return the greeting so that she could grab a token bite to eat, dance a token dance and leave. Preferably all within the next twenty minutes.

"Miss Granger," Lucius inclined his head in the barest of nods and surreptitiously eyed the generous cleavage artfully highlighted by her dress. Who would have thought actually covering something up could make it look even more alluring that having it blatantly on display? Madame Celeste had succeeded magnificently, if Lucius' heated look was anything to go by. She concealed a shudder at the thought of the hypocrite blatantly eying her 'girls' (as Ginny was wont to call them ... or more acurately, 'Harry's girls.').

She was not considered 'good enough' to socialize with or even acknowledge in public, but evidently, she was just fine as something to objectify.

Arrogant inbred arsehole!

Narcissa's smile hardened even further (which was quite a feat as it looked brittle enough as it was) as she took note of where her husband's eyes had strayed, and stiffening her spine (which did little to aid her own almost nonexistent cleavage) addressed Hermione curtly.

"Miss Granger," she almost hissed, "How lovely you could join us this evening. You must make sure to sample some of the delicacies we have imported from Spain and Italy before you leave," Hermione hid a smile as Narcissa added an extra emphasis on the word 'leave.' If she hadn't promised Draco she would behave, she would have enjoyed riling the woman up some more, but a promise was a promise.

Besides, she was a tad outnumbered.

"I'll be sure to, thank you," she offered graciously instead, and could have sworn Draco gave a relived sigh at her polite rejoinder. "Please excuse me," she added, anxious to get away from the man ogling her, his bitchy, uptight wife and his dark friend who had her stomach doing flip-flops.

She had only gotten a few steps away from the group when she heard her name being called by a voice she would have recognized anywhere. She closed her eyes momentarily to gather her flailing strength, and plastering a polite, but indifferent smile on her face, she turned around to greet him.

"Hello Mr. Snape, how lovely to see you again. You're looking well," she realized that was an understatement. She hadn't seen him since _that_ night and he had obviously had some work done. His hair was shorter and instead of covering up his features, now highlighted them, adding to his appeal. His nose looked slightly smaller and straighter than she had ever seen it, and his teeth would have made her parents proud. He was dressed in silver and black dress robes that were obviously of the finest quality and had been tailored to emphasize his lean form. The overall effect was quite impressive, and she found herself, once again, wishing for unattainable things.

But it was always his eyes that had mesmerized her. So dark they were almost black, and so deep and compelling that it had always seemed as if he were searing her very soul. Tonight was no exception, and she felt herself falling into the dark abyss almost against her will.

"Miss Granger," he grabbed her hand and gently kissed the back of it, sending her already rapidly beating heart into overdrive and a delicious shiver down her spine, "May I say that you look absolutely ravishing tonight?" His voice was liquid silk as it flowed over her sensitive nerve endings, and she felt an unexpected rush of warmth in her core at the seductiveness of his tone.

"Might I also be so bold as to ask for a dance before the wolves descend and steal you away?" he inquired softly, and it took her muddled brain a moment to register his words.

"Yes, I would love to dance, thank you," she pushed back the insistent voice inside reminding her of her previous resolution to avoid him at all costs. "But what do you mean by wolves?" she asked, her confusion apparent.

"My dear," _bloody __hell__, __even __his __laugh __was __seductive__,_ his voice held a sharper hint of something she couldn't quite place, "You are easily the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, trust me when I tell you that you will be highly sought after."

"Is that your idea of a joke, Mr. Snape?" she asked in what sounded, even to her own ears, surprisingly flirtatious, despite the seriousness of her query, "Don't think I don't know about my nickname." She could tell Severus seemed surprised at this revelation, "I am a muggleborn in a room full of purebloods, I doubt any of them will sully themselves enough to even speak to me, much less ask me to dance. But I thank you for the compliment all the same."

Instead of answering right away, he drew her onto the dance floor and skillfully began to lead her in a waltz. As soon as she was in his arms, she felt that _thing_ again, that _something_ she had felt eight years ago. It was as if her body suddenly lit up inside, almost like a light coming on once electricity was applied. It was startling, scary, and thrilling all at the same time, and by the stunned look on his face, Severus had felt it as well.

_Could their bodies and hearts (or even souls) be reaching out to the other, having recognized its true mate? _

Hermione shook her head at such fanciful and romantic nonsense. Severus didn't _do_ attachments, that much was clear, and she would not allow her heart to get attached to someone still pining for a ghost.

She made a mental note to throw out all the muggle romance novels she had stashed in her nightstand since they were obviously starting to affect her if she was now spouting fluffy cliche's.

"You underestimate your own appeal Miss Granger," his voice, when he finally spoke, sounded almost like a growl as he whirled her around the floor, "and I can personally attest to the magnetic properties of that dress which have drawn almost every eye in the room."

_When did Severus Snape get so smooth?_

Hermione looked around to judge the validity of his words, and was immensely dismayed to find he was correct. She began to feel her throat constrict as she bit back the beginning of a panic attack. She, unlike most women, detested the idea of being ogled by strange men, and in wearing this dress had thought only of trying to catch Severus' eyes. She would never have believed anyone else would find her even remotely attractive, especially as she was the 'Mudblood Menace.' She had expected to be ostracized almost from the moment of her arrival, but she did not expect either the appreciative looks from the assembled males, or the angry and jealous looks from the females.

She was not even remotely prepared for either, as both were so far out of her experience as to be almost laughable.

"Please," she said almost pleadingly, knowing distress was evident in her eyes, "Could we dance closer to the ladies toilet, I'm going to dash in there for a quick minute, and then try to sneak out of here. I thank you for the lovely dance, Mr. Snape."

Hermione needed a minute to collect herself, and soothe her riotous stomach, before she embarrassed herself more than she already had done.

"Please call me Severus, this Mr. Snape nonsense is far too formal from someone I would like to spend more time getting to know," he added in his devastatingly affecting voice again, "Must you go so soon? Just say the word and I will not leave your side for the rest of the evening and make sure you are safe from the wolves and letches," His sincerity floored her, and she found herself nodding almost against her will as they neared her destination.

"Then you must call me Hermione, Severus," she added softly as she reluctantly pulled herself out of his arms.

He offered her a gallant bow and kissed her hand once more before releasing her, "I'll get us fresh drinks and be right back," he said softly, and she sighed heavily as he walked away, her heart doing somersaults in her chest in anticipation of what the rest of the night might have in store for her.

She told her little voice to 'stuff it' but couldn't hold back the smile at the thought of getting better acquainted with Severus. She turned and entered a powder room that was almost bigger than her first flat. It had a sitting room filled with mirrors, couches and a warm fire (which she bypassed in search of the actual toilet, assuming there was one).

_Did purebloods shit like everyone else?_

She smirked at her sophomoric humor, washed her hands quickly, and added another swipe of gloss over her lips. Deciding she looked as good as she was going to under the circumstances, she started to make her way towards the sitting area when she heard a voice say her name and she stopped to listen, drawn almost against her will to the malicious tone from the unknown woman.

"Did you see the way she was draped all over Severus," said the first female, "I thought you said he was _your_ date for the evening Scarlet?"

A high-pitched laugh filled the room and Hermione cringed at the haughty tone when she finally spoke, "He was _supposed_ to be, but Lucius asked him to keep the mudblood entertained and away from the other guests tonight, and since they are such good friends, Severus told me he could hardly deny his request. We have plans to meet up after he gets rid of the 'annoying know-it-all' as he calls her," her voice lowered to a purr, "And having had him before, I am more than anxious for some of his _special __attention_ again tonight."

Hermione tried to control her reaction to the spiteful words as bawdy laughter filled the room, but her heart had sunk down into her now nauseous stomach, and she forced back the tears that threatened to escape from her burning eyes at his obvious deception. It had all been lies. Every tantalizing word out of his mouth had simply been a ploy to convince her to stay away from the 'real' guests, and she felt like the world's biggest fool. He had obviously spoken of her if the woman knew what he used to call her while she was a student.

If _this_ is what happened when she made an attempt to socialize, then she would no longer bother. If she didn't put herself out there, she couldn't be hurt.

And despite herself, she was hurt.

But she was worth ten of the vapid witch that Severus was spending the evening with; if she was any indication of the type of woman he preferred, then he could have her, and she would happily keep her distance ... well, she would keep her distance anyway, being happy about it was another matter entirely.

She wiped away any obvious sign of tears, threw back her shoulders, held her head high and walked right past the two twittering witches in the sitting room. Once she was outside, she noted with relief that Severus hadn't returned with the drinks yet, and quickly headed for the exit, intent on getting as far away from Malfoy Manor as fast as humanly possible.

She deftly avoided anyone that called to her or attempted to get her attention, and gave a heartfelt sigh of thanks when she reached the front doors unaccosted. She was just stepping through when she heard a familiar deep voice anxiously calling her name. She pretended not to hear him (or feel the lurch of pain her foolish heart gave) and kept walking towards the Apparition Point located just inside the gates.

"Hermione, wait!" he called once more. She was almost to her destination when she felt his hand on her arm and spun around angrily to confront the man who had duped her.

"_Let __me __go__, __Severus__!"_ she said, her voice filled with bitterness and pain despite all attempts to hide her true feelings, "You're free from your _babysitting __duty_ for the evening, and you can go back to your vapid date, Scarlet. She's quite keen for some more of your _special __attention_ and I would hate for you to keep her waiting."

Before he could respond, she whirled around, and with a distinctive 'crack' she was gone. Leaving a very confused and upset wizard behind.


	5. Chapter 5

Severus couldn't believe what had just happened. He had finally had her in his arms, and had even convinced her to allow him to be her escort for the rest of the evening, when the next thing he knew she was leaving. And for some unknown reason, she seemed angry and obviously hurt by something, or someone.

_What in the bloody hell had just happened?_

The afternoon had started out well; the ceremony had been very touching (although he would never admit as much, even on pain of death), and he found himself feeling slightly jealous of the obviously loving relationship Draco and Blaise had together. However, Narcissa's incessant (and barely veiled) comments about not being able to have a 'real' grandchild were starting to wear on even _his_ nerves. He wasn't the only one if Blaise's tight smile and Draco's tense shoulders were anything to go by.

So it had been with more than a little relief when Draco mentioned seeing Hermione, and he had eagerly joined the rest of the group watch her approach with varying degrees of interest.

He had been rendered speechless as soon as he saw her in that dress. She looked like a goddess, an angel and pure sin incarnate all rolled into one, and (he realized with a twinge of possessiveness) he wasn't the only one to notice. The pureblood women with their cold beauty and slender, almost boyish figures (that might be well suited to haute couture, but hardly fired a man's blood) paled in comparison to her lush form and warm, earthy loveliness and he found himself spellbound and completely captivated by her.

When their eyes first met as she was crossing the room towards their assembled group, he felt his stomach lurch in nervous anticipation, but she broke eye contact quickly and chose not to acknowledge his presence. Despite her aloofness, however, he could not pry his eyes away from her.

She was stunning!

He had never paid much attention to her looks while she was a student, except to note that while she wasn't _un_attractive, neither was she notably pretty. It therefore, had come as a shock at the ball to find himself face to face with such a lovely young woman and realize that it was actually Hermione Granger his body was responding to.

Seeing the same woman in the Three Broomsticks so many years later, had confirmed that Hermione was one of those fortunate women who grew more beautiful as she aged. And yet, she seemed amazingly unaware of her own allure.

_Were all the men in Britain completely blind? Could they not see the rare jewel that stood before them?_

Her figure, always slender and petite, had matured and grown since her youth (more abundantly in some areas) and he had to discretely adjust himself as an unsolicited image of her glorious body sans clothing filled his mind.

But his ardor had cooled as soon as he noticed Lucius' eyes following every one of her abundant curves; his lascivious, and frankly, rude, appraisal going unnoticed by no one, especially Narcissa, who was used to Lucius' wandering eyes (and hands, if the opportunity presented itself). Narcissa knew better than to complain, as pureblood men had the same view about wives as they did towards children ... they should be seen but not heard.

That didn't stop Narcissa from putting the 'other woman' or 'intended target' in her place if possible, and many a lesser woman had felt the wrath (and the sharp tongue) of Narcissa Malfoy, much to her husband's displeasure. Severus felt a surge of protectiveness towards Hermione; not because he was worried Narcissa would hurt her (he had no doubt that if wands were drawn, Hermione would wipe the floor with the pureblood ice queen). No, it was because, not only did he hope to be the one she honored with her undivided attention, but also because she was _the_ only muggleborn in a room full of purebloods.

He made a silent vow to stay by her side if she let him, or at least close enough to rescue her should she need it.

He could almost feel Hermione's tension as she struggled to maintain her poise in the face of Narcissa's less than subtle insults, and he was impressed anew at Hermione's composure despite the older woman's pettiness. The haughty ice bitch was in rare form, and Severus found himself longing to slap the smug look off Narcissa's deceptively angelic face.

Severus had recently come to discover (much to his disgust) that while Narcissa might appear extremely beautiful on the outside, it was but a façade that covered the bitter and empty shell of a woman she was on the inside.

He almost felt sorry for his friend.

Almost.

Whether she had always been that way and he had never noticed, or whether it was the result of years playing host to an army of Death Eaters and a sadistically cruel, half snake dictator, he didn't know (or care). Lucius had once been his friend, but the tides were turning, and his own sense of outrage at the Malfoys treatment of the woman he longed for was simply too much to forgive. He ignored Narcissa's attempts to further malign Hermione, gave her a scathing look of utmost disgust at her less than gracious behavior, and ran after the woman of his dreams.

Yes, he was evidently turning into a sodding Hufflepuff, but he could no longer deny how he felt.

Hermione, to his great relief (and joy) had been surprisingly receptive to both his pathetic attempts at flirtation, and he could have sworn he saw an answering desire swirling within the golden brown depths of her eyes.

_So what had changed?_

One minute he was practically floating towards the bar for two more glasses of champagne, eagerly anticipating an evening spent by her side, and the next he was watching with a heavy heart as she raced away from him.

_ Why had she called it babysitting duty?_

It would have been his absolute pleasure to have her on his arm all night, in fact, he would have been hard pressed to refrain from proudly strutting around like a preening cockerel.

_So what had brought on her confusing behavior?_

She mentioned Scarlet as his date. _Scarlet who? And what did she mean by his 'special attention?'_

He suddenly felt a sickening lurch in his stomach, and realized to whom she must have been referring. Scarlet Lacerne had been one of the first women he had bedded during his 'rebellious period,' as Lucius dubbed his brief foray into dating. But other than a pretty mouth (that she was admittedly quite talented with) she had little to recommend her, and he had ended things after only one night.

He found himself searching the crowd for her, determined to find out what had happened. It was obvious _something_ had happened to drive Hermione away, and he wanted to rectify the situation as soon as possible. He hadn't been searching long, however, when a pair of blood-red nails twined themselves around his waist from behind, and a voice he only vaguely recognized, purred in his ear, "There you are Severus darling, I have been looking everywhere for you. Cissy told me you would be here, and were asking about me."

_Narcissa had set him up?_

He was really starting to dislike that controlling, passive-aggressive, bitch.

He swallowed back his revulsion at both her tone and the feel of her lips against his ear, but needed to get her alone so he could question her (by whatever means necessary) and didn't want an audience when he did it. He grabbed her hand, plastered on a seductive smile, and pulled her towards one of the many empty rooms in Malfoy Manor.

He pushed back the overwhelming desire to lash out at her, not only for the presumptuous and overly friendly way she was touching him, but also her insinuation that they were more intimately acquainted than they were, or had _ever __been_. Unfortunately, he needed answers, and going along with, whatever it was she hoped to accomplish by accosting him in such an unseemly fashion, seemed the easiest way to get them.

"Why don't we go somewhere to reminisce then, _darling_," she thankfully didn't notice the sarcastic edge to his voice, and simpered happily in his wake as he led her down a deserted hallway.

Once ensconced in a small sitting room next to the library, he secured the doors and turned around to face the woman who was in the process of disrobing.

_Sweet Circe! She obviously didn't believe in wasting time! Had she been this forward the first time or had he been too intoxicated at the time to even care?_

Either way, he had been an idiot.

He watched dispassionately as her gown fell to the floor, leaving her clad in only a small pair of lacy knickers. Her slim body, small breasts and hips (and no waist to speak of) seemed almost boyish when compared to the ripeness of Hermione's lush form, and he wondered what he had ever found alluring about her. She was a cottage pie, while Hermione was a Buccleuch fillet. The first, cheap and easy to come by (even though it gets the job done); the latter, rarer, allowing one to savor every succulent bite.

She approached him in what he was sure _she __believed_ to be a seductive glide intent on relieving him of his robes, but he was not the least bit enticed to partake of what she had to offer and grabbed her wrists to stop her before she could touch him.

"Tell me what happened in the lady's toilet earlier?" he asked almost forcefully, surprising her, though it didn't take long for her to recover her poise, and she offered a twinkling laugh before answering.

"I just made sure the mudblood knew she didn't belong here, and never would," she added haughtily as she leaned forward in a vain attempt to kiss him.

He was repulsed at both her pathetic attempt at seduction and her malicious words, and moved his head away from her pursed lips. He decided to cut to the chase and find out on his own, anxious to get away from her as soon as possible,

_"__Legilimens__,"_ he stared into her light blue eyes and watched the scene unfold as his stomach lurched in disgust and fear. Disgust at what she had done, and fear that Hermione had believed him capable of such deceit.

He shouldn't have been surprised to discover Narcissa's role in the deception, but he was. _She_ had been the one to approach Scarlet, and engineer the conversation for Hermione to 'accidentally' overhear. Narcissa not only disliked Hermione because of her blood status, but she was jealous at Lucius' obvious interest in Hermione's abundant physical charms. She had no trouble convincing Scarlet, and a few of the other snooty wives who also felt threatened by Hermione, to go along with her scheme.

Severus shoved her away from him as soon as he saw the entire memory. Before she had time to complain, he spat,_ "__Obliviate__,"_ removing any memory of the last ten minutes from her mind, and quickly left the room before she came back to her senses. He shuddered at the thought of what she would assume had happened between them, but he refused to linger. His fear was driving him towards the front door and the Apparition Point so he could try to clear things up with Hermione while getting as far away from Narcissa as possible until he cooled down.

He _needed_ to fix things.

He needed her to understand that he had meant every word he had said tonight.

He just needed her, and he would do whatever it took to get her.

**ooOoo**

By the time Hermione arrived back at her flat her anger had mostly subsided in the wake of her departure from the manor. Now she simply felt tired and defeated. For the briefest moment she had seen Severus' face, and instead of the guilty look she had expected, it mirrored genuine confusion.

She couldn't help but wonder if it was an act or if they had both been played.

She wasn't sure of anything anymore, except that she was done trying to play nice with the pureblood hypocrites. She was done trying to fit in with a faction that obviously didn't want her; would _never_ want her or her kind, no matter how smart, successful, powerful or brave she proved herself to be. Because her continued success threatened everything they believed about their own superiority. They _wanted_ to believe muggleborns were inferior, and she had been proving them wrong from day frigging one.

And they despised her for it.

She had really held back when she wrote her first book so as not to shake too many trees, and had opted instead to give many of the purebloods involved the benefit of the doubt.

But for what? So they could shun her and play games with her for their own amusement?

She may have doubts about Severus' role in tonight's fiasco, but she had no doubt that the Malfoys, with the exception of Draco, had not wanted her there and had no qualms about embarrassing or attempting to humiliate her as a result. Maybe it was time to dig out her old notes and write a book dedicated to the pureblood movement and how it was ripe breeding ground for another up and coming Dark Lord to seize control.

The old faction had way too much power in their world, both within the government, holding ninety-two of the hundred seats on the Wizengamot; at Hogwarts, since nine out of the ten members of the Board of Governors were pureblood, and at the Ministry, where every single Department Head and senior management position was filled by a pureblood, with halfbloods and a few token muggleborns employed in the lower levels.

Muggleborns _were allowed_ to fill entry-level positions or the shite jobs few wanted and were rewarded with slow or non-existent promotions and lower pay as a not-so-subtle way to encourage them to go back to their _own_ world. And, of course, the 'piece de resistance,' was that only a pureblood could be Minister for Magic.

Period.

Kingsley, at least, was a decent Minister and did what little he could to ensure fair treatment, which, admittedly, wasn't much, especially considering he was fighting a losing battle with the purebloods so deeply entrenched in the decision-making process for the entire British wizarding community.

A community where _only_ thirteen percent of the population was actually pureblood, yet held almost _all_ of the seats of power over the remaining eighty-seven percent, was … disturbing, not to mention corrupt and highly biased.

During her earlier research, she had discovered that many of the old pureblood family lines had been wiped out during Voldemort's almost twenty year reign, and that, coupled with the continued practice of inbreeding prevalent among the remaining families had decreased the number even further. Failure to merge 'new' or 'fresh' magic into old, pure bloodlines, had resulted in a record high number of squib births, while pureblood births were at an all time low.

Yet they continued to rule.

_Why? And why was everyone allowing it to happen?_

It reminded her of the muggle Disney film she had taken Ron and Harry to see shortly after the final battle, entitled, 'A Bug's Life'. They had all needed a break from the tension and grieving, and had grudgingly agreed to go with her to London (more to appease her than because they actually wanted to) but the end result had been the same. The movie, while cute, had done little to cheer her friends and they had all returned to Hogwarts in subdued silence. It wasn't until later, after the oppressive cloud had begun to lift, that she had remembered that silly movie and it's plot line.

It was about a relatively small army of grasshoppers that continually terrorized a colony of ants to provide the best available food as payment for leaving them to live the rest of the year in peace, forcing the ants to work twice as hard to find food for themselves before winter set in.

It wasn't until a brave and forward thinking ant named Flik (who was considered 'weird' or 'strange' by the rest of the colony) went in search of a way to protect the colony from the grasshoppers, that change occurred. That one ant, with the help of a few friends, had been the catalyst for the entire colony to realize that they, by virtue of their greater numbers, actually held all the power. All they had to do was stick together and stand up for themselves and their world, and in the end, they did.

She, Hermione Granger, was determined to be that ant ... or witch ... or whatever. She would need help, but she would either change her world, or she would leave it and move elsewhere.

It was time to get busy researching the wizarding governments in the rest of the world to see if the same bigotry and prejudice was as prevalent as it was in Britain.

It was time to start leveling the playing field.

She sincerely doubted the mass populace was aware of just how much they were being led by just a few powerful families (that should have never still been allowed to remain in power after their ties with Voldemort were uncovered) but everyone had simply been too happy after Voldemort was finally defeated. They allowed themselves to just follow along with the status quo. Even Harry, the one person who could have really made a difference after defeating Voldemort, was simply too tired to care.

She really couldn't blame him.

She loved her home, but one of her main gripes about the majority of witches and wizards in Britain, was that they allowed themselves to be led like sheep, believing every word printed in that pathetic excuse for a news publication, and every word uttered by the Minister, regardless of its truth or validity.

It was sickening. But she was going to do everything in her power to try to get them to open their eyes and think for themselves for once. Or at the very least, follow her way of thinking.

The irony of that statement did cause her pause, but she buried it.

She didn't want to be Minister. There was no bloody way in the nine circles of hell she would _ever_ consent to be Minister; she saw herself as more a leader for change.

Hermione decided there was no time like the present to begin, and began packing a bag. She would start in the states. She had made many contacts from all over the world while researching her previous books, and she planned to get in touch with each one of them.

She felt a momentary pang at the loss of Severus, but she needed to get her mind off of … things, and burying herself in a new project was the best way to do it.

Unfortunately, her publisher, Elise, was a good friend of Narcissa's, and would never agree to support her new book. She had enjoyed working with Elise over the years, and had made the woman a lot of money, but apparently it was time to find a new publisher.

This book would shake the foundation of her world, but it needed to be done. Revolutions were needed every couple hundred years to shake things up and keep those in power honest.

It was time to start a revolution!


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review. I appreciate your continued support. ****And much thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

**Just a brief note on the chapter: I spent over 18 years in the Navy and traveled all over the world. I have seen both good and bad in every country I either lived in or visited (my own included) and mean no offense to any specific country in this story. If I have done so, I apologize.**

Severus arrived at Hermione's flat just as she was apparating away, and he swore harshly. All he wanted was a chance to apologize and he needed her to stay in one place long enough to do that. The question was: when would she be back?

As it was starting to get dark, he decided to just go home and send her an owl requesting a meeting. Hopefully she would respond. If not, he would just have to keep trying.

_She had to come home eventually … right?_

Once again, his past was coming back to haunt him. First, getting involved with such a stupid woman, and then his mistaken belief that Hermione would believe him when he had only ever spoken to her with disdain and contempt. He had a lot to make up for.

He had given up fighting for the girl he had _thought_ he loved long ago, he refused to give up this time.

Because somehow, for reasons even he couldn't comprehend (and he had spent countless hours trying to make sense of his sudden and inexplicably strong feelings for her) he just _knew_ Hermione Granger was the one woman for him.

The _only_ one.

Now he just had to make _her_ see it.

**ooOoo**

Hermione settled deeper into the plush bedding of the four-poster, and poured herself another cup of coffee. One of the first things she had discovered upon arrival was that it was almost impossible to get a decent cup of tea in the states; the stuff they tried to pass off as cream was almost laughable. Thankfully, she had found out the hotel's chef was a squib (and by happy coincidence, a fan of her work) so she had since been treated to a daily treat of freshly ground Kona coffee, rich cream, and the flakiest chocolate croissants imaginable.

No, it wasn't tea, but it sure as Merlin came a close second.

Her decadent breakfast was interrupted by a tapping on the window and she sighed in irritation. Staying in a posh five-star high-rise hotel had many benefits (like the luxurious bedding and the personal chef on staff) but windows that didn't open was _not_ one of them and she had to use magic to let the confused owl into the room.

She recognized the handwriting almost instantly (even after ten years) but was hesitant to open it. The very fact that he bothered to write meant he was trying to make amends, but how could she tell if he was being truthful?

Better to just read it and find out.

_Dear __Hermione__,_

_I __am __hesitant __to __discuss __this __in __a __letter __as __you __cannot __see __my __eyes __and __read __the __sincerity __and __utter __truthfulness __in __them__, __but __it __seems __to __be __the __only __option __available __to __me __at __this __point__._

_I __went __to __your __flat __as __soon __as __I __was __done __interrogating __Scarlet __about __her __role __in __your __hasty __departure __from __the __reception__, __but __arrived __just __as __you __were __leaving __again__. __To __my __knowledge__, __you __have __not __been __back __since__._

_As __you __have __probably __ascertained __by __now__, __Scarlet __was __a __woman __I __dated once __a __few __years __ago__. __I __am __not __proud __of __the __fact__, __and __in __hindsight__, __would __have __avoided __her __at __all __costs __had __I __known __of __her __petty __and __spiteful __character__, __but __what__'__s __done __is __done__._

_Please __believe __me __when __I __tell __you __that __I __had __absolutely __no __idea __that __she __planned for you to __overhear __that __completely __fabricated __conversation__. __It __wasn__'__t __until __I __forced __my __way __into __her __mind (__yes__, __I __realize __it__'__s __illegal__, __but __I __too __was __angry __and __disappointed __at __losing __my __chance __to __spend __time __with __you __to __care) __that __I __discovered __she __was __put __up __to __it __by __the __wives __out __of __jealousy __and __a__ wish __to '__put __you __in __your __place__.'_

_I __am __disgusted __to __have __called __those __very __people __friends __at __one __time__, __but __no __longer__._

_I __cannot __begin __to __tell __you __how __much __I __have __come __to __admire __your __work __over __the __years__. __Your __intellect__, __compassion__,__and __research __methodology __have __far __surpassed __anything __I __expected __from __you __while __at __school (__to __my __utter __shame __and __regret__). __I __was __too __wrapped __up __in __playing __my__ '__role__' __to __see __you __for __the __amazing __witch __you __were __even __then__._

_You __are__, __by __far__, __the __most brilliant__ witch __I __have __ever __met__, __or __ever __hope __to __meet__._

_I __have __long __wanted __a __chance __to __get __to __know __you __in __person __instead __of __through __your __written __works__. __I __missed __my __chance __at __the __reception__, __but __I __beg __you __to __believe __that __I __meant __every __word __I __said __that __night__. __Above __and __beyond __your __intellect__, __I __find __you __to __be __incredibly __beautiful__, __and __that __day __you __put __every __woman __in __the __room __to __shame__. __You __still __do__._

_I __would __like __nothing __more __than __another __chance __with __you__, __if __in __fact__, __I __even __had __one __to __begin __with__. __I __will __await __your __reply __and __hope __that __you __can __forgive __me__._

_Your __humble __servant__,_

_Severus __Snape_

Hermione was absolutely floored by his letter.

_He wanted to get to know her? He admired and respected her? He really thought she was beautiful?_

Hermione's thoughts were completely jumbled as she read the letter a second and then a third time, hoping his words would make more sense with each additional read-thru. He had never shown her any interest at all, in fact, it had always been just the opposite.

_Could he have felt the same connection as she both times they had touched?_

Her heartbeat quickened with the faintest glimmer of hope, but she forced it back down. While sweet and eye-opening, his letter begged more questions than it answered, and just now she couldn't afford to lose her focus, not when there was so much to do.

Too bad he couldn't help her. It would be nice to have someone of his intellect and experience to help her analyze data and put things into perspective. He would also be able to offer insight into the pureblood mindset.

Plus, he was very nice to look at, and she imagined (quite often actually) that he would be quite nice to touch as well ... or just listen to. He could read the bloody stock reports and she would melt as his velvety timbres flowed over her.

Did she want to snog him senseless?_ Yes! _

Shag him until she forgot her own name?_ Yes Please! _

But could she truly trust him? Of that, she wasn't as sure.

Maybe it was time for her to find out.

ooOoo

Severus waited impatiently as first one week, and then another, went by without a single reply to his letter and was finally forced to the conclusion that either she didn't believe him (and really, who could blame her, Merlin know _he_ had never taken _her_ word for anything while at Hogwarts) or she believed him, but wasn't interested in any sort of relationship. Neither sat well with him, but the latter hurt more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

He had returned to Malfoy Manor a few days after the reception and told Narcissa exactly what he thought of her little ploy to embarrass and hurt Hermione, and while even Lucius appeared upset at his wife's vindictive behavior, he agreed with her that 'the mudblood' should not have been there in the first place. Severus knew, however, that what Lucius was _really_ upset about, was that he had hoped for a chance to bed Hermione before she departed and his wife had ruined his opportunity with her pettiness.

Arrogant inbred prick!

Severus had always known Lucius was a womanizer, and a wedding ring had done little to curb his appetites, but when the woman Lucius was planning to seduce was the woman he wanted for his own, Severus could no longer tolerate even being in the same room with him. He had never really agreed with any of the pureblood rhetoric (despite being forced to spout it for so many years just to keep his cover intact) but lately he had come to the startling realization that his continued silence since the defeat of Voldemort could be interpreted as tacit approval or agreement with their beliefs, and he no longer had any desire to be painted by the same brush as the Malfoys.

He felt little remorse when he told Lucius that he no longer wanted to remain friends with someone so narrow-minded, prejudiced and cruel. He left amid ardent denials, implied threats and finally, false apologies, but he ignored them all and left without once looking back.

He had thought that after their narrow escape from prosecution once Voldemort had been defeated, Lucius and Narcissa might change their views (or at least kept their true feelings hidden) but instead of keeping their prejudiced beliefs to themselves, they were becoming bolder once again and rallying support among the old crowd for Merlin knows what purpose.

He doubted it would be good.

Regardless, friend or not, he wanted no part of whatever they were planning. He had managed to stay out of prison thanks to Harry Potter and had no desire to get involved with anything even remotely subversive again.

Besides, it was completely unimaginable to him how anyone could say that muggleborns were 'less than.'

They obviously had never met Hermione Granger.

She wasn't 'less' _anything_.

He just wished he knew where she had gone so he could try to explain things in person. Even if she rejected him. He refused to spend his life drowning in 'what ifs.'

Well ... he refused to spend his life drowning in 'what-ifs' _anymore_.

It was just at that moment that a tawny owl tapped on his window. He let the impatient bird in, and removed the letter, recognizing Hermione's neat handwriting at once.

His heart beat unsteadily as he held the missive in his hand. He wanted to rip it open and read her words, and yet … and yet … he was afraid of what they might be.

_Had she believed him? Had she forgiven him? Did she want him to leave her alone?_

There was only one way to find out.

_Dear __Severus__,_

_After __all __this __time__, __it __still __feels __more __natural __to __call __you__ '__Professor__,' __even __though __it__'__s __my __understanding __that __you __have __never __returned __to __teaching__._

_Is __that __correct__?_

_I __am __ashamed __to __admit __that __I __really __don__'__t __know __the __answer __to __that __question__. __As __a __matter __of __fact__, __there __are __a __lot __of __questions __that __I __don__'__t __have __answers __to__, __and __only __you __can __help __me __with __that__._

_Did __you __mean __what __you __wrote__?_

_I __guess __that__'__s __the __biggest __and __most __important __question __I __have__, __the __rest __are __all __dependent __on __that __one__. __Such __as__: w__hat __changed __in __the __last __ten __years __to __make __you __suddenly __want __to __get __to __know __me__? __Why __am __I __suddenly __a__ '__beautiful __woman__' __when __I __have __always __been __the __mousey __haired__, __insufferable __know__-__it__-__all__?_

_I __must __admit__, __Scarlet __referring __to __me __by __that __name lent __credence __to __her __story__, __as __you __have __always __been __the __only __person __to __call __me __that__. __How __else __would __she __have __known __that __except __from __you__?_

_I __want __to __believe __you__, __truly __I __do__, __but __in __light __of __recent __events (__especially __considering __your __close __relationship __with __the __very __family __that __has __been __attempting __to __discredit __me __for __years) __I __am __disinclined __to __blindly __believe __anything __without __proof._

_Maybe __I __am __becoming __more __Slytherin __as __I __age__, __or __maybe __fighting __against __Slytherins __has __forced __me __to __play __the __game __by __their __rules__._

_They __amount __to __the __same __thing __after __all__._

_I __should __tell __you__, __that __I __am __currently __abroad __researching __my __next __book __and __I __expect __to remain here __until __it __is __complete__. __I __doubt __it __will __be __well __received__, __especially __by __your __close __friends. __I __look __at __our __world __and __I __don__'__t __like __the __direction __we __are __headed __in __and __I __refuse __to __sit __back __and __watch __what __happened __with __Voldemort __happen __again __without __at __least __trying __to __do __my __part __to __stop __it __before __it __gets __out __of __control__._

_Having __said __that__, __I __would __be __lying __if __I __said __I __wasn__'__t __hoping __that __you __were __being __truthful__, __because __despite __our __rocky __past__, __you __are __a __man __I __have __always __admired __and __respected__._

_Regardless__, __it __matters __little __how __attracted __I __am to you__, __I __will __never __allow __myself __to __get __involved __with __someone __who__'__s __heart __still __belongs __to __another__. __I __am __neither __stupid __enough, __nor __desperate __enough, __to __allow __myself __to __be __a __placeholder __for __a __ghost__._

_Be __well__,_

_Hermione_

Severus read through the letter at least a dozen times, trying to find any hidden meaning or messages, but despite her protestations to the contrary, she was still a Gryffindor and said exactly what she meant.

She thought he still loved Lily.

She was writing a book that could hurt the purebloods, and the Malfoys especially. _How did he feel about that?_

She was attracted to him, but erroneously thought his heart still belonged to another.

She was attracted to him.

She wanted him.

She wanted him. That was the most important thing, the rest were simply details. As long as she wanted him, he could deal with everything else.

_But how long would she be gone exactly? Would she let him come see her?_

He didn't have the answers, but he would be damned if he sat around waiting to find out. Quickly grabbing a blank piece of parchment and quill, he began to write.

**ooOoo**

Hermione spent her first week in the states buried in the Hall of Records in Salem, Massachusetts; the location of U.S. Ministry East, and in Sedona, Arizona at U.S. Ministry West, two of the purported strongest magical 'hot spots' in North America. The U.S. had split their ministry due to the sheer size of the magical population, as had Canada, Russia, China, Brazil, and Australia, and she had appointments with all of them in the coming weeks.

Thankfully, she had been given a diplomatic pass by Kingsley, and amazingly enough, her name, both as a heroine of the war and for her groundbreaking research (her books were starting to gain more recognition outside Britain) still carried weight in certain circles despite her ancestry ... or lack thereof. She was inordinately pleased to discover that blood status (to her immense relief) carried far less weight in the majority of the world, although countries like Bulgaria and Russia were still struggling to overcome their dark reputations.

After leaving Sedona, she traveled to Canada, where the sheer number of magical beings that populated the region was astonishing, as were the progressive laws and attitudes about equality among all species. It was quite refreshing for Hermione to see such open-minded wizards, and to see the house elves, goblins, and even centaurs holding seats and having equal full voting rights in the government.

She decided that if things didn't pan out in Britain for her, she couls always relocate to Canada.

It wasn't until she was reluctantly preparing to leave Alberta, a place so beautiful she had a hard time focusing on her work, that she received a reply from Severus.

_My __Dear __Hermione__,_

_Your __letter __both __concerned __me __and __offered __me __more __hope __than __I __deserve__._

_I __feel __there __are __a __few __issues __that __need __to __be __addressed__, __however__._

_I __have __broken __off __all __ties __with __the __Malfoys__, __with __the __exception __of __Draco__ (__who__, __incidentally__, __isn__'__t __speaking __to __his __parents __after __he __discovered __what __they __did __to __you__). __Their __treatment __of __you __was __reprehensible __and __I __will __no __longer __tow __the __party __line __when __it __involves __bigotry __and __prejudice__, __especially __when __it __concerns __a __woman __I __care __deeply __for__._

_If__, __as __I __suspect__, __you __are __writing __a __book __about __the __purebloods __infiltration __of __our __government__, __then __I __would __like __to __offer __my __services __to __you __to __assist __in __any __way __I __am __able__. __I __too__, __have __noticed __something __brewing __and __have __wasted __enough __years __fighting __wars__, __and __am __in __need __of __peace __and __quiet__. __Like __you__, __I __will __do __what __I __can __to __ensure __that __happens__._

_Narcissa __knew __what __I __used __to __call __you__, __to __my __great __shame__, __because __Draco __told __her __back __in __second __year__. __She __suggested __that __Scarlet __use __it __as __a __way __to __further __humiliate __you __and __add __credence to her ploy__, __as __you __yourself __mentioned__. __I __am __sorry __that __my __shortsighted __pettiness __from __years __ago __have __once __again __caused __you __pain__._

_Contrary __to __what __you (__or __any__one __else) __believe, __I __do __not __still __harbor __a __secret (__or __not __so __secret __as __the __case __may __be) __love __for Lily Potter__. __I __have __come __to __accept __that __what __I __felt __for __her __was __more __guilt __than __anything__, __and __was __fed __by __my __own __loneliness __and __fear __and __built __into __something __it __was __not__. __The __love __I __believed __I __felt __for __Lily __has __become __no __more __potent __than __a __weak __memory __of __a __girl __I __once __considered __a __friend__._

_There __is __only __one __person __that __my __heart __longs __for__, __and __I __hope __she __will __find __it __in __her __heart __to __see __me__._

_Yours__,_

_Severus_

Hermione slumped down in the chair, the wind completely knocked out of her.

_He cared for her? How was that possible? They had barely spent twenty minutes total alone together in the last ten years_. Yet, her heart felt things for him that she could neither explain nor discount easily, so maybe there was something else at play here.

_Dare she think it ... something almost fated?_

Hermione had never been a huge believer in anything even remotely subjective or 'foo foo', like divination. Nor did she give much credence to prophesies (despite having fought a war as the result of others beliefs in one). She had always considered herself an extremely practical person, in fact, some might have even called her narrow-minded (and had more than once). She just chose to believe in proven facts and real solutions over unproven theories or intangibles, magical or otherwise.

It wasn't until she had started researching her second book, that she was shown definitive proof that _belief_ and _faith_ played a larger role in healing than she had ever thought possible, and that sometimes things (things that couldn't always be accurately explained) just _happened_. Especially when dealing with a person's magical essence.

So, Hermione Granger, resident non believer and skeptic extraordinaire, had started to open her eyes to the world around her. What she discovered had shocked, amazed and even humbled her. There was unexplainable magic everywhere. It was in the infant that could levitate itself back towards its sleeping mother, it was in the little eight year old girl who glowed a soft pink when she held hands with her childhood playmate and it was in the almost visible aura of love (and the equal sharing of pain) between a married couple she helped treat; together for over one hundred years, their bond so strong they practically shared one soul.

It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen, and it had changed her.

She was still skeptical more often than not (a side effect of having an overly logical brain) but she no longer scoffed at things she would have once dismissed outright, like soul mates. While the academic in her tended to disbelieve such a thing even existed, her softer, feminine side desperately longed to be proven wrong. Just the idea (no matter how deeply buried in her subconscious) that there was some one, some _man_, out there that was created _just __for __her ... someone _ideally suited to her temperament and personality ... was equal parts terrifying and exciting.

That Severus Snape might be that man had never even occurred to her (not consciously anyway) until recently.

_AARRGGHHH__!_

What she needed was to just sleep with him and get it done with. Maybe then she could stop having these dreams, or thinking all these confusing thoughts, and finally put her focus squarely back where it belonged.

On writing her book ... and overthrowing the government.

She really didn't have time for fanciful speculation about someone she barely knew in actuality, despite how much she had discovered about him or even how much she respected and admired him. That spark (or whatever it was she felt when they touched) could have just as easily been a fluke, a temporary feeling brought on by too much champagne or her own emotional distress on both occasions. The idea that they had formed some sort of connection in such a short time, despite her recent open-mindedness, was … disturbing, and … unlikely, and … just wishful thinking on her part.

She needed to focus on her book, not on wild speculations or improbabilities.

Too bad her heart wasn't being as cooperative.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione spent the next month buried in facts and figures trying to draw an accurate picture of the way the rest of the wizarding world conducted business. After visiting eight different countries herself, it hadn't taken long to recognize that she needed help if she wanted to have her book finished anytime within the next decade, so she hired six additional researchers (specifically recommended by her old professors at Avalon University) and swore them to silence. The extra help had been exactly what she needed, and they already had compiled data from almost half of the existing wizarding governments.

The sheer amount of information collected, however, had quickly begun to overwhelm her (not to mention the very real possibility of her being buried alive under the growing mountain of parchment) and she had finally been forced to act. Bowing to her muggle heritage, she purchased six top of the line computers and hired five more students to begin the tedious process of inputting all the information, thus giving her a clearer picture of the facts.

Magic was wonderful, but sometimes one needed technology to get the job done.

Hermione was in her element. She loved the research process, loved learning new things and then finding a way to turn the visions in her head into the written word. She had high expectations for this book; it was essential that she have all the facts and figures to extrapolate the most effective form of governing, and develop a hypothetical working model for Britain to (hopefully) adopt and emulate. A government that honored equality among all blood lines and offered full representation and an equal voice for each magical species that called Britain their home.

She knew she wouldn't be able to change the world overnight, but what was desperately needed was a peaceful (or semi-peaceful) coup. So, on top of her number crunching, she began to make a mental list of whom and what she would need to carry out the herculean task.

First, she would have to enlist the help of some of her friends back home, then she needed to garner the support of the current Minister (she was fairly certain Kingley would be receptive to change once he realized what was at stake) and lastly, she would have to address the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW). They would need to be informed so they weren't tempted to step in and interfere. Thankfully, there were international statutes in place to deal with just such an occasion (which the ICW had conveniently twisted to their own benefit to excuse their lack of assistance during the war with Voldemort). This time, she would use their own laws (and cowardly actions) against them.

She also had a lot of dirt on various members of government and the Hogwarts Board of Directors, but needed more if her plan was to succeed. She needed enough to make them step down, willingly or otherwise. To do that it was vital she uncover _all_ the proverbial skeletons in the cupboard and even more importantly, she needed to find the money trail; where there was power (or the corruption of power) there was always money. A little visit with her good friend Ragnok at Gringotts would be in order.

In addition, she also needed Luna's journalistic skills, Rita Skeeter's contacts in both Hogwarts and the Ministry (and her ability to dig for dirt better than anyone alive) ... and Severus.

Staying busy the last few weeks had kept her from dwelling on possibilities she wasn't quite ready to contemplate. For while she was fairly successful at keeping unwanted thoughts at bay during her waking hours, she couldn't shut off her dreams. They were becoming more frequent (not to mention more and more graphic) and frankly, she was getting tired of fighting whatever this power was that he seemed to have over her.

She was getting tired of wasting so much energy denying her attraction; energy that was desperately needed elsewhere. Energy needed to finish the research for her book and then to actually _write_ the book. Then she had to disseminate her book, finalize the plans to overthrow the government, find appropriate candidates to fill the positions that would be vacated, help draft proposed new legislation that would ensure equality across the board _and_ still find time to … maybe … hopefully … fall in love, lose her virginity, get married and have a couple of beautiful, magical über babies.

No problem.

_So why was the idea of falling in love ten times scarier than planning to commit treason against the existing government and possibly spending a lifetime in Azkaban if she failed?_

She decided that coming up with a few contingency plans would be added to her 'To Do' list in case her main plan failed, because she really did _not_ look good in dingy gray stripes, and she suspected that finding a husband in prison _might_ prove a tad difficult.

Well, finding a _good_ husband anyway.

In comparison, finding a good house had been relatively easy.

Hermione needed somewhere to serve as both a place to sleep and eat, but also have enough extra rooms for her employees should they need a place to crash.

Thankfully, money was not an issue (especially as more and more countries were discovering the effectiveness of her healing patent) and she had been able to rent a gorgeous, two-story, luxury log cabin that combined both magical and muggle amenities. Originally intended as a long-term rental, she had taken one walk-thru and fallen in love prompting an immediate offer to purchase. The offer was accepted and a week later she was a home owner.

The spacious house had five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a library, an office, a large open kitchen and a complete wall of windows (magically treated to be unbreakable) that looked out over Banff National Park. Whether as a retreat when she needed to get away for a while, or it became her new home, would depend solely on what happened in the next few months.

She was also very pleased to discover, that while the house was invisible to muggles (and had many protective wards in place to keep away lifeforms of any kind ... unless she expressly permitted it), the selling point had been the large home office that had been specially warded and protected by the previous owner to allow muggle technology to be used within that space without being destroyed by the ambient magic in the rest of the house.

It was the best of both worlds, just as it should be.

Knowing they would need the extra help, Hermione had hired a house elf from the local agency (she had been overjoyed to learn that there were free house elves in Canada that had no desire to be owned, and hired themselves out for a fee) to keep the kitchen stocked, freshly cooked food available when needed, the beds freshly made, the laundry done and the rest of the house clutter free. The weekly rate for the elf, Mindy, was fairly steep but they would be lost without her.

Hermione had been so impressed with the majestic beauty of Alberta, Canada, that as soon as it became clear she needed a central location to work from it had been her first choice and she had yet to be disappointed. In fact, her twice daily walks were the only thing keeping her sane.

Despite the progress being made, and her belief that what she was doing was the right thing (it needed to be done for future generations as well as her own) there was a small part of her (the tired and sometimes completely overwhelmed part) that wondered what gave _her_ the right to change a system that had been in place over a thousand years. That same part was sometimes tempted to just give up, renounce her British citizenship, and move to Canada, or Italy, or anywhere where she could live in peace.

But then she would think about all her friends, and the children that had yet to discover magic. They would be shunted through a system that didn't care about them, subjected to biased and unfair laws (possibly getting hurt irrevocably in the process) and she knew she wouldn't be able to live with herself if she quit without giving it her all.

That thought was usually enough to boost her flagging spirits and help keep her mind on task and her self doubts at bay.

But as John Donne once said, "No man is an island,' or rather, no witch was an island, and she missed her friends ... and Severus.

Which surprised her to no end.

_How could she possibly miss someone she had never really spent any time with?_

It was a great mystery to her, but one she was tired of trying to solve on her own.

It was time to write home.

**ooOoo**

Severus had spent the last four weeks alternating painfully between anticipation, agitation and agonizing lust, brought on by his increasingly erotic dreams. But he had finally admitted defeat. She wasn't going to talk to him until she was ready, and it appeared that she wouldn't be ready until she had done what she set out to do ... namely finish her book. And while that thought brought little relief from his growing lassitude, he did understand that it was important to her and he would not bother her again if that was her wish.

He had continued working in his lab filling orders, and had even hired two part-time brewers to keep up with the increased demand, but his heart wasn't really in it anymore. He had ignored countless owls from Lucius, two dinner invitations from Draco and Blaise,a few offers for sex from previous liaisons and the yearly job offer from Minerva to teach at Hogwarts, citing that 'the current Potion's Professor was a dunderhead (in her professional opinion) and the school needed him back.'

While secretly flattered that she still wanted him, he had never truly liked teaching, and wanted no part of being responsible for shaping young minds ever again unless it was his own children (something he had come to realize over the past few months that he would like very much). Unfortunately, it didn't look like that would be possible any time soon.

He was hesitant to admit (even to himself) that it may actually _never_ happen.

He had been so sure he could convince Hermione of his feelings, convince her they would be perfect together, convince her to give him a chance, that he had failed to take into consideration that she was thousands of kilometers away. It's hard to woo someone who isn't even on the same continent, especially considering he had never formally courted anyone and hadn't the first bloody clue what he was doing, much less how to make romantic gestures via owl.

Merlin knows, even though he had mellowed considerably over the years, he was hardly the hearts and flowers sort of man.

He had taken to rereading her books again just to have her thoughts close even if he couldn't hear them in person, and had been growing increasingly maudlin despite his best attempts to keep his mind focused elsewhere.

He was bloody pathetic.

Mooning over a woman he had yet to even kiss was a bit much even by his standards, but considering he held a torch for over twenty years for a girl who had not affected him even half as much as Hermione did, he supposed he shouldn't be surprised.

Evidently, when he fell, he fell hard.

He took another sip of his lukewarm tea, as he couldn't seem to dredge up the energy to reheat it, when he heard a bird pecking insistently at the window. His heart jumped in eager expectation until he realized that it was probably another insipid female from the party asking him out for a drink, and he was more terse that usual when he finally reached the impatient falcon.

"Alright, alright already, give it here then if you're in such a bloody hurry to be off," he removed the parchment a bit more forcefully than was necessary, and received a nip on his hand in retribution.

The letter was from Hermione.

He almost couldn't believe his eyes, but even after so long he would know her handwriting anywhere.

She had finally written.

He shoved down his disappointment when he realized the missive contained only a few short words, but his heart soared when he read them.

_**Severus**__**,**_

_**I **__**need **__**you**__**! **__**Are **__**you **__**still **__**willing**__**?**_

_**Hermione**_

_Was he still willing? Was he still willing to what?_

_Still willing to help her? Apologize to her? Get to know her? Make love to her?_

_Love her?_

Yes, yes, yes, hell yes, and … unconditionally and forever.

_Where __in __the __bloody __hell __had __that __thought __come __from__?_

Whatever she wanted or needed, he would try like hell to provide, as long as he could be by her side.

_Bugger __me __sideways!_

Evidently he_ was_ a hearts and flowers kind of man. When in the holy hell had that happened? When exactly had his subconscious decided he loved her? How could he possibly love a woman he had only admired from afar?

_Thank Merlin Albus wasn't around to see this, or his eye twinkling would be blinding_. That thought was immediately followed by the painful jolt he always got when he thought of his old mentor and friend. Despite being a pain in the bloody arse, completely overbearing at times and barmy as all get out, Severus still missed him dreadfully.

But now was not the time for sad reflections on things he couldn't change, now was the time for action. _This_ was what he had waited for and he wasted no time replying before heading for the shower.

If she did respond as he hoped, he didn't want to scare her off with his current bedraggled and unkempt appearance.

**ooOoo**

Harry opened the letter from Hermione with only casual interest as he was busy feeding Lily. Ginny was still helping Susan settle in after giving birth to little Molly since Ron had to go back to work today, leaving Harry at home alone with his second youngest to enjoy a much-needed day off. Thankfully, little Albus was still visiting with his 'nana,' and wouldn't be home until later. Molly was wonderful, but had some health problems of late, and could only handle one grandchild at a time by herself.

His interest soon turned to alarm, however, as he read the words his brilliant, but reclusive, friend had written; the spoon filled with sweet potatoes dropping soundlessly to the thick rug.

"Bloody hell Hermione," Harry cried out, startling his daughter, who had taken advantage of his lapse in attention to help herself to the remaining potatoes in the bowl. His happy, albeit very messy, daughter began to cry at her father's sharp words and he instantly regretted his crazed outburst.

"Oh baby, daddy's sorry," he crooned apologetically, as he attempted to clean up the orange goo his daughter had smeared all over her face, her hair and somehow, even gotten in her nappy. He gave his wand a quick flick, placed his now happily babbling daughter on his hip, and activated the floo; the parchment lay forgotten on the floor, the words already ingrained in Harry's mind as he went in search of his wife.

_**Dear **__**Harry**__**,**_

_**Feel **__**like **__**shaking **__**things **__**up**__**?**_

_**I**__**'**__**m **__**planning **__**a **__**revolution **__**and **__**could **__**use **__**some **__**help**__**. **__**Are **__**you **__**up **__**for **__**it**__**?**_

_**If **__**so**__**, **__**could **__**you **__**round **__**up **__**the**__** '**__**old **__**crowd**__**' **__**and **__**get **__**back **__**to **__**me**__**?**_

_**Miss **__**you**__**!**_

_**Love**__**,**_

_**Hermione**_

**ooOoo**

Hermione only had to wait a few hours for her answer (thank Merlin for transcontinental falcons, an owl would have taken days to respond) and now that she had actually taken the first step she was anxious to get things rolling. She was so focused on watching out the window for the bird, that its arrival startled her.

She wasted no time retrieving the note.

She hadn't realized her hands were shaking until she saw the parchment wobbling unsteadily, and she took a deep breath before reading his response.

_**Hermione**__**,**_

_**More **__**than **__**willing**__**, **__**just **__**name **__**the **__**time **__**and **__**the **__**place **__**and **__**I **__**will **__**be **__**there**__**. **__**Or **__**you **__**can **__**floo **__**call **__**me **__**at **__**Blackwing **__**Cottage**__**, **__**I **__**will **__**have **__**the **__**connection **__**open **__**from **__**nine **__**am **__**until **__**nine **__**pm **__**my **__**time**__** (**__**it **__**is **__**currently **__**eight **__**am**__**).**_

_**Password **__**is**__**: **__**forgiveness**__**.**_

_**Yours**__**,**_

_**Severus**_

Hermione sat down shakily on the bar stool and leaned her elbows against the island to steady her nerves. Elation battled with anxiety, and trepidation fought against joyous relief while she digested his words.

He said that he was 'more than willing' and he had signed it 'yours.'

That had to be a good sign. _Right?_

But was he offering her his heart or his intellect? Was that just his response to help her with the book? Was he willing to help her work or willing to see what this _thing_ was between them?

_Where in the bloody hell was Ginny when she needed her?_

His password was 'forgiveness,' did that mean he wanted her forgiveness or was it simply a general statement about his Modus Operandi lately?

_Sweet Circe, when did she become so neurotic? She sounded like a flippin fourth year with her first crush._

She, Hermione Jean Granger, was an intelligent, witty, kind, well read, reasonably attractive woman. She would not fall to pieces over a man. She would be the strong and confident witch she knew she was and deal with this situation like a mature adult.

_So why did she suddenly have an overwhelming desire to call her mum?_

**ooOoo**

"Harry?" Ginny called in surprise at seeing her flustered husband step into the kitchen holding a grinning (and slightly orange) Lily. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?" she asked in growing concern.

Harry simply shook his head and handed Lily over before turning back towards the fire. He threw in some floo powder, "Auror Weasley's Office," he called loudly and clearly into the green flames.

Ginny was not only confused, but was starting to get a bit worried. _What would make him call Ron in the middle of the day without telling her what was going on?_

"Sup arry?" came the garbled voice of Ron from inside the fireplace. Ginny was not in the least surprised to find her brother's mouth full of something; if he was awake, he was eating.

"Ron, can you grab Luna and bring her to your house right away?" Harry cut off Ron's questions and answered shortly, "No one's hurt, it's about Hermione. Gotta go mate," and he cut off the connection before Ron could say anything else.

"Harry, what's …?" but that was as far as Ginny got before her husband's head was once more in the floo, "Hogwarts, Greenhouse One," he stated clearly, and Ginny was even more curious about what was going on.

"Harry," came the jovial voice of Neville Longbottom, the current Herbology Professor, "How are you, mate? How's Gin?" Harry once again cut off his greeting, and Ginny was getting a tad peeved at her husband's strange and rude behavior.

"Sorry Nev, can't go into details, but can you get away for a bit and come over to Ron's house? Something came up with Hermione and I need to talk to you," Harry spoke in a no-nonsense voice, but he was a tad more informative than he had been with Ron.

"I have the next two periods free, I can come right through after I let Minerva know I'm leaving," Neville rarely questioned anyone, especially if they needed something. He was a very good friend, especially in a crises.

"See ya soon mate," Harry broke the connection and stood once more, looking around the kitchen as if searching for something. "If Ron's coming, we'd better make sure there's something to eat and drink," he spoke almost to himself as he set out the tea-things and searched the pantry for biscuits or scones, completely oblivious to his wife's growing agitation.

"Harry, _what is_ going on?" she asked, the anger in her voice finally catching Harry's attention and halting his movements.

"I'll explain once everyone is here, Gin. I promise," and he kissed his wife on the cheek before going back to preparing tea.

Before she could complain further, the floo activated and Neville stepped through and brushed himself off, followed almost immediately by Ron and Luna; the first looking harried, and the latter looking as serene as ever as she kissed her husband on the cheek.

"Hello luv," Neville said to his smiling wife, pulling out a chair for her to sit down.

"What's going on Harry? What's wrong with Hermione?" Ron asked in increasing agitation, his face becoming redder the longer he had to wait for a response.

Harry didn't answer until Susan entered the room looked tired, but happy, and took a seat between her irate husband, and her equally irate sister-in-law. She hid her smile at the similarity between the two redheads (especially when riled), poured herself a cup of tea and waited for Harry to explain.

"Hermione's finally gone over the edge," he sated unequivocally to the expectant group, "The stress must finally be getting to her. She wrote to tell me she wants to start a revolution or some such nonsense and wants our help," he started to pace the floors as questions were shouted simultaneously from both Weasleys, Susan and Neville. Before he could answer any of them, a spark shot out of Luna's wand and the slight blond woman spoke amid the sudden silence.

"It's about time someone did, don't you think, and who better than Hermione?" she said in her dreamy voice, shocking Harry, and the rest of the room speechless. "Now, let's talk details."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing (even if you don't leave a way for me to answer), especially those of you still hanging with me from before. You're continued supprt meand a lot. **

**And many thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

Severus waited and watched, and watched and waited.

He once again looked at his pocket watch … ten past nine … and she _still_ hadn't contacted him.

Of course, having absolutely no idea what time zone Hermione was _in_, he had no idea what time it actually _was_ where she lived, and therefore, common sense would dictate that it may very well be the middle of the night and she could bloody well be sleeping … which would explain why she hadn't been in his fireplace the second he unblocked his floo.

_But when had common sense ever been used in the same context as love?_

He was beginning to think that falling in love was synonymous with uncertainty, and, in some of his more cynical moments, mental instability; brief periods of euphoria, followed by bouts of irrational fear. He now understood why it was referred to as 'falling' in love, because he certainly felt like he was in a constant state of imbalance.

_So why again did he want to do this?_

As frustrated as he was, he didn't even have to think twice about the answer to that question.

Just the _thought_ of _more__;_ more moments of feeling her in his arms, more moments spent delving into her incredible intellect, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't hope (quite desperately actually) for more intimate moments (preferably naked) but just _more_ time spent with _her__._

_That_ thought alone made the rest of it more bearable.

But first, he needed to calm down and think logically, which, until recently, had never been a problem for him. The cool use of logic in stressful or dangerous situations, had always been one of his greatest strengths. It had, in fact, kept him alive on more than one occasion, or at least it _had __been_ one of his more prominent traits until Miss Granger came barreling into his life and turned him into a simpering Hufflepuff. If he wasn't careful, the Slytherin Alumni Association would demand his membership card back and ban him from the Slytherin Brotherhood for life.

Time to focus!

_Logically_, if she was staying someplace like Sydney, it would be just after eight pm, and she would have contacted him already … right? Although if she were closer to Moscow it would only be noon, and if she was on the West Coast of the United States it would be one in the morning, so maybe she wasn't even up yet.

_Yes_! He liked that option better than the thought that she hadn't bothered to contact him all day.

He had been sure her letter meant she was anxious to talk to him, or at least she wanted to talk to him about her work, but he would take what he could get at this point.

He decided he was being ridiculous and left the kitchen to head toward his laboratory, at the very least, doing some work would take his mind off the time.

He was soon engrossed in paperwork ... deeply engrossed ... so engrossed he could barely drag his attention away from his work ... every few seconds ... to glance at his timepiece (which, he was convinced, was defective, as it was moving … so … bloody … slow).

He finally threw the blasted parchment away in disgust.

Here he was, once again, getting worked up over this bloody woman who he hadn't even bloody talked to for longer than five bloody minutes, much less snogged yet, and getting _nothing_ accomplished. He had ingredients to order, new packaging to approve, tasks to assign the new brewers, three new contracts to look over and sign, two new patents to submit and the Wolfsbane Potion to complete so he could take it to the center (his contribution to the werewolves unable to find work, and were forced to live on government assistance). Not to mention, his own ongoing research, which had been shoved by the wayside in recent months as he worked longer and longer hours to keep up with the increasing demand as his potions grew in popularity.

No, he didn't have time to watch the clock like a lovesick mooncalf.

He swore silently as he noted the time once more. It was just past noon.

Okay, maybe he was acting just a _little_ bit lovesick, but he was _no_ mooncalf, of that he was quite certain!

He shoved aside his impatience once more, and actually managed to finish up most of the paperwork before Lotta, his elf, popped in to let him know lunch was ready. He groaned as he stood up, his back and neck muscles tense from being hunched over a desk writing for so long. He needed to get a workout in to loosen his muscles and relieve some of this tension he had carried around.

He no longer stalked the halls of Hogwarts all hours of the night, burning off every calorie he actually managed to consume (which usually weren't very many). He had barely eaten one full meal a day while Voldemort was in power; his stomach usually too tied up in knots due to fear, anxiety, stress or any number of other mitigating factors.

After his near fatal encounter with Nagini, it took a good year before he was even able to stomach much at all, and it was only in the last few years that his appetite had finally come back and allowed him to gain some much-needed weight. Of course, now he was forced to work out to keep himself from gaining _too_ much weight, so he dueled at least once a week to keep his wand skills fresh, fenced almost daily against animated dummies (which helped maintain his agility and speed) and lifted weights to improve his strength.

All in all, he was in the best health and shape of his life.

Even though the war was over, he had never lost his instinct towards self-preservation, and he never fully let his guard down. To this day (lauded war hero or not) there were still those that held a grudge against him, and would love to see him dead or at least seriously injured. So he kept his home heavily warded, his place of work password protected _and_ heavily warded, carried two wands at all times and remained alert wherever he went.

Every year that passed without incident allowed him to relax just a bit more, but it would be a very long time (if ever) before he would relax his guard completely.

He was just sitting down to a delicious smelling oyster stew when he felt the wards tingle slightly to indicate an approaching owl. He set down his spoon and went to retrieve the letter.

Instead of an owl, he found a beautiful black falcon carrying a small package.

It was from Hermione.

_**Severus**__**,**_

_**I **__**apologize **__**for **__**not **__**flooing**__**, **__**but **__**I **__**am **__**not **__**set **__**up **__**with **__**international **__**floo **__**access**__**, **__**so **__**I **__**have **__**taken **__**the **__**liberty **__**of **__**enclosing **__**a **__**transcontinental **__**portkey **__**that **__**my **__**wards **__**will **__**recognize**__**. **__**Assuming **__**you **__**are **__**still **__**interested **__**in **__**joining **__**me**__**, **__**it **__**will **__**activate **__**anytime **__**between **__**four **__**and **__**ten **__**pm **__**on **__**Sunday**__**, **__**August**__** 3**__**rd**__**.**_

_**I **__**hope **__**I**__**'**__**m **__**not **__**being **__**too **__**presumptuous**__**.**_

_**The **__**password **__**is**__**: **__**forgiven**__**.**_

_**I **__**would **__**be **__**honored **__**to **__**have **__**you **__**as **__**my **__**guest **__**for **__**as **__**long **__**as **__**you **__**are **__**able **__**to **__**stay**__**, **__**the **__**weather **__**is **__**usually **__**sunny **__**and **__**averages **__**between**__** 20**__**º**__** – 23**__**º**__**C**__**, **__**so **__**pack **__**accordingly**__**.**_

_**I **__**asked **__**Talon **__**to **__**wait **__**for **__**any **__**return **__**correspondence **__**you **__**may **__**have**__**.**_

_**I **__**look **__**forward **__**to **__**seeing **__**you**__**,**_

_**Hermione**_

He had not even considered that she wouldn't be able to floo him, and he felt like an idiot for not thinking of it. He grabbed a blank sheet of parchment and wrote a quick response that he was afraid might have sounded curt, but he had much to do if he was going to leave the country in two days time.

Forgiven. Her password, like his, had been a question asked and now answered, and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

She had forgiven him!

Now he just needed to sweep her off her feet.

He forgot his rapidly cooling lunch and began to make a mental checklist of things he needed to do if he planned on being away from home for any length of time, but he had a smile on his face and a spring in his step as he left the room.

**ooOoo**

Hermione read the letter once more, still unable to believe that Severus would be arriving at any time. The tone had been decidedly less warm (for lack of a better term) and she forced herself not to over analyze it or read too much into what it _didn__'__t_ say.

She wasn't having as much luck as she would have hoped.

She had scheduled his arrival for a Sunday because that was the only day she ever had the house to herself, and she was hoping for some time to get him settled in (and maybe spend some time alone with him) before the rest of the group returned. Now, however, she almost wished she had other people around to help deflect some of her nervous tension.

_What if he really was just coming to help with her book?_

She read the letter once more.

_**Hermione**__**,**_

_**I **__**will **__**see **__**you **__**Sunday**__**.**_

_**Severus**_

It was short and to the point. Exactly how she would have expected a letter from Severus Snape to sound had she not already received two prior letters that were warm, complimentary and almost … romantic. This one, by comparison, sounded coldly polite, and did nothing to settle her nerves.

She shoved the letter back in the pocket of her khaki's and went outside to sit on the porch. It was a beautiful day, and at just shy of noon, was already a lovely 21º C.

The portkey had been active for three hours, and she had to forcibly remind herself that it was still only five am in England, so realistically, the earliest he would probably arrive would be two or three pm local. It would be another couple of hours wait (at least) and she went in search of Mindy to make sure the guest room was ready.

Again.

She, of course, slept in the master bedroom; three of the four remaining bedrooms had been magically expanded for her employees use; each containing four single beds. The remaining bedroom (or, the 'green room;' decorated in a lovely shade of forest green) was where she would put Severus.

She had debated for about two (or twelve) minutes putting Severus in with her, but decided that might seem a bit keen. Instead she gave him his own room, and hoped that he wouldn't be sleeping in it for long.

After many (many) hours of over thinking it, she had decided that she needed to just take the bull by the horns (or the appropriate male appendage by the … erm … base) and exorcise the demons that had plagued her since she first touched his hand. She was convinced it must just be a delayed hormonal reaction on her part. After all, twenty-eight years of celibacy and suppressed sexual desire must surely have built up and that was what was causing her present distress. Once she finally released those desires, things would calm back down.

She might have to release them repeatedly though.

Just to make sure.

**ooOoo**

"What do you mean it's about time, Luna?" Harry asked gently, as if he were dealing with a mental patient, and Luna struggled not to laugh. Boys were so funny sometimes.

"Yeah!" piped in his redheaded cohort, "What in the bleeding hell are you on about?" Ron had never had much patience, especially when he felt he was being left out of the loop, or he didn't understand something, which, in Luna's mind, was quite often.

Thankfully, Ron's wife Susan, taking exception to his rude language, smacked his arm and hushed him. He didn't look pleased.

"Luna luv," asked Neville, "can you explain exactly what you mean, because I think they are all still in the dark."

Neville was the love of her life, and one of the few people who had ever taken the time and effort to see the _real_ person behind 'Loony Lovegood,' and for that, she would always be thankful. She had not been sorted into Ravenclaw for nothing, yet everyone seemed to forget that fact, and while much had been made of Hermione's intelligence, Luna had gotten the second highest scores the year the lauded Gryffindor had graduated, but too much less fanfare.

Which had suited her just fine.

She had never been one to make a fuss or seek recognition, she was simply happy having a few good friends and a man who loved her, content in her own world of journalism and magical creatures few possessed the ability (or the inclination) to see. She had been blessed with seers blood on her mother's side, but it wasn't of the divination kind. She possessed a rare bit of earth magic that allowed her to view the world in a different way than most, and it amazed her daily that people had no problem believing that magic itself existed, but refused to even consider the possibility of a whole world of creatures that chose to make their presence known to only a select few.

She really couldn't blame them (the creatures, not the humans) as some of them were purported to have amazing healing properties, and if wizards got wind of the incredible potential the creatures represented, they would soon be hunted down to extinction. That had been why she and her father had searched for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack for so long; it's blood was suspected to have regenerative powers that was especially beneficial to damaged minds. The Longbottoms had been good friends with her parents before Bellatrix got to them, and she and her father had tried to find a way to help Frank and Alice ever since. She would like nothing more than to give her Neville back his parents.

No, she had never minded being called 'flighty,' or 'dreamy,' and even 'loony' hadn't hurt her as much as expected, but sometimes (very rarely, but it happened all the same) she got frustrated when people assumed that just because she saw things differently than they did, that meant she was mentally challenged.

But these people were her friends, and even Hermione (the most narrow-minded and skeptical person she had ever met) had since become one of her dearest friends, and now she needed their help.

Luna just had to figure out a way to get the rest of them on board.

"I _see_ things Harry," Luna began patiently, "I _watch_ what is happening around me. I _read_, and I _listen_. Haven't you been reading any of my stories lately?" she looked around at four guilty faces, and swallowed back her momentary hurt at their non-verbal answers. She took pride in her work, and had hoped that her friends at least would support her. Neville gave her hand a supporting squeeze, which eased some of her ire.

At least _one_ of her friends read and understood what message she was trying to get across. Hermione had read between the lines loud and clear, and had even sent in editorial responses to a few of her more blatant stories under the alias, Herman La Grange, supporting the validity of certain articles in the hopes of getting the message out.

"Lucius Malfoy is gathering his old followers together and planning to make a bid for Minister," she stated unequivocally. She watched her audience (with the exception of Neville) gawk at her as if she were a three-headed Dumdinger.

Which, while admittedly strange-looking, didn't offend her in the least. The Dumdinger possessed a lovely, siren-like croon used to lull dangerous predators to sleep so they could make their escape. The same croon that had lulled her (and her mother before her) to sleep many times over the years as well. Unfortunately, none of her friends knew that, or would probably even believe her had she taken the time to explain.

She sighed heavily and swallowed back her explanation.

Again.

"Luna?" Harry was the first to speak, his tone and posture radiating condescension, as he attempted to gently dissuade her of her views. "Kingsley is Minister and will _stay_ Minister for a long time to come. I'm not sure where you got this information, but I think in this case, you are _very_ much mistaken. Is this what Hermione's concerned about?"

Luna bit back a sigh, and swallowed the sharp words that sprung to her tongue at Harry's obtuseness. Unfortunately, some curtness bled through in her tone when she addressed him, causing everyone to look a bit surprised.

"Harry, you are without a doubt, one of the most powerful wizards of our generation, but you have never been able to see the big picture. You have always been concerned with fighting the battles, while others fought the war," She could tell he was equal parts confused and offended by her remarks, but Hermione needed their help, and she didn't have time to either coddle him as Dumbledore had done, or pander to his ego as everyone else constantly did.

"Luna," he said angrily, his usual modesty forsaken in the face of her accusations, "_I_ was the reason we _won_ the war, or have you forgotten that?"

"Harry, you fought the _battles_," she tried to explain patiently, keeping a tight rein on her frustration at his patently 'Harry' answer, "and yes, you ultimately fought the final battle that ended the war, but who do you think engineered that twenty year plan? Who moved the players around like chess pieces, who made the hard decisions about which soldiers were expendable and which weren't? Who engineered events to fall in line in a very _precise_ way, making sure things happened _only_ when they were supposed to, and not a minute before?"

She could tell her words had stunned more than Harry and knew this conversation was long overdue, but she had never wanted to be the one to instigate it. "It wasn't _you_ Harry, and I can promise you that Dumbledore was extremely thankful you _were_ impulsive, headstrong, and only saw what he wanted you to see. Now you're an Auror, tasked with upholding and enforcing the law, but have you been _reading_ the new laws that have been proposed over the past year? They are all aimed at restricting and hindering muggleborns from thriving in our world."

He looked towards Ron in confusion as he tried to recall any new law aimed at repressing muggleborns. Surely he would have noticed that. Wouldn't he?

"It's nothing _obvious_ Harry," Luna said impatiently, "You have to read between the lines to see he is laying the groundwork for more intrusive laws later, _after_ he becomes Minister."

Ginny was fussing with Lily, but even she looked disturbed at Luna's words.

"Harry, why do you think Dumbledore kept you in the dark about so much for so long? It was because he knew that anything he told you would be shared with Ron and Hermione, and while Ron is a good strategist," she gave Ron an apologetic look before continuing, "he is as impulsive as you are. Hermione was your voice of reason, but Dumbledore knew, if she were given even a _hint_ of the wrong information too soon she would start to put the pieces together and discover what he was up to, and he couldn't allow that. So while he _needed_ Hermione to keep you two from doing something reckless, he also needed _her_ kept as blind as possible, which meant keeping _you_ uninformed as well."

"That's not true ..." Ron bellowed, as Luna's words finally registered.

"Dumbledore did not ..." Harry said at practically the same time.

Even Ginny, angry at Luna's assessment of her husband's character, voiced her opinion, "That's bullocks and you know it, Luna."

Susan, a Hufflepuff while at Hogwarts, had watched the 'Golden Trio' from the outside, and agreed (for the most part) with Luna's take on the situation. Not having been privy to any of the inner workings during the war, she had no idea if Luna's take on Dumbledore's actions was correct or not, but while she loved her husband dearly, she wasn't blind to his faults.

She wisely chose to remain silent.

Luna found herself wondering, honestly, how Hermione had put up with those two for so many years. There had been a time when she used to wish she had been sorted into Gryffindor, but it hadn't taken her long to change her opinion. The Ravenclaws, while admittedly cruel at times, usually thought before spouting off like a tea kettle at a full boil.

But it wasn't Luna that answered the two irate Gryffindors, it was Neville, "Yes it's true Ron, and yes, Harry, Dumbledore did play you," he held up his hand to forestall the outburst he knew was coming, "He played _all_ of us, and while I may not have liked his methods, especially when it applied to both of our parents, I understand that he was doing what _he_ believed needed to be done to defeat Voldemort."

He grabbed Luna's hand once more and gave it a squeeze before continuing, "My gran and I talked very candidly about the war, and while she was on the light side, she was no fan of Dumbledore. Why do you think she never joined the Order? It was because she didn't like the risks Dumbledore took with other people's lives."

Neville paused and gave Harry a piercing look, one Harry had not seen on his friend's face since he trained with the DA. "Gran told me that Dumbledore was more concerned about you and your parents being safe from Voldemort after hearing the prophesy that by the time he got around to notifying mine, it was too late, Bellatrix had already gotten to them. It was gran who snuck me to safety after taking down Barty Crouch, Jr. herself," he added with a hint of pride, "She never really trusted Dumbledore after that."

Luna gave her husband a kiss on the cheek in thanks for his unfailing support, and to hopefully ease some of his pain. She felt almost sorry for the guilt Harry must surely be feeling (if his face was anything to go by) but they had too many other things to resolve and not a lot of time left to do it. She loved Harry, and knew him to be an exceptionally powerful and brave wizard, but he had been spoon fed for far too long and needed to stand up and start thinking for himself.

"Neville," Harry spoke quietly, his face awash with anguish, "I am so …"

Neville quickly cut him off. "I didn't bring this up to make you feel bad Harry," he said firmly, "I'm just trying to make you finally realize that there was a lot more going on that we weren't privy too. Just like there is now, which is what Luna is trying to make you understand. So please listen to her, okay?"

Harry gave a curt nod, and looked towards Luna. She had decided it was time to stop mucking about and get Hermione the help she needed. If she was correct (and she suspected she was) things were moving along faster than anyone realized.

"Harry, this wasn't meant to turn into the great Dumbledore Debate of 2008," she smiled softly at her unintentional rhyme, "But if we want to keep the purebloods from taking over the government, then we need to stop arguing and contact Hermione so we can find out what she needs from us. I cannot, nor will I, speak for any of you, but Neville and I plan to support her in any and every way possible," Luna spoke with a firmness of conviction she rarely expressed, and the seriousness of the situation finally began to sink into the minds of the others present, until they all nodded.

"I'm in," said Susan without preamble, followed by Ginny, Harry, and finally, and somewhat grudgingly, Ron.

"Tell us what you know Luna," Harry said, his anger gone, replaced by his trademark determined squint.

"Okay then," Luna announced, happy to finally have their undivided attention, "Well, I first noticed that the Wrackspurts were fleeing, which they normally don't do except in times of political unrest …" She began to detail the many signs she had observed in the last two years, "… but it wasn't until I actually saw a Glowering Purple Ferrango hovering over Lucius Malfoy one afternoon in Diagon Alley, that I knew we were in trouble."

She was completely oblivious to the incredulous looks she was receiving from four of the five adults in the kitchen, but paused to smile as Lily added her two knuts.

"Uple ango," she clapped happily.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you to the guests leaving reviews. I can't answer you, but you've left such lovely reviews, I'd like to.** **I will never hold a chapter ransom for reviews, but I do appreciate the feedback letting me know what is working and what isn't. **

**Big thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

Hermione felt the wards shift before she actually saw Severus arrive, and nervously smoothed down her hair as she hurried outside to meet him. Just before she reached the main doors, she forced herself to take a few deep breaths and slow down to a casual walk ... at least she hoped she came across casual and relaxed.

She didn't want to seem _too_ eager.

That, and she didn't think she would seem at her most attractive if she were to fall flat on her arse while walking out to meet him. She tended to trip, run into, or fall over things when she was distracted. It would have embarrassed her, but thankfully she was usually alone when it happened.

Severus was looking around speculatively as she approached, and Hermione knew he might be a bit disoriented after traveling such a long distance via portkey. She was always off for an hour or two after traveling so far, and she wondered if he was the same.

Hermione used his momentary distraction as an opportunity to look him over, and was very pleased to note that he had dressed in casual attire; his dark, heavy robes replaced with clothes more suited to the climate, or maybe they were simply a reflection of his new, more relaxed persona. His black slacks, and white button down, highlighted his very fit physique, and she felt the first fluttering of desire at his appearance ... which only escalated when he smiled at her.

"Severus, thank you for coming, and welcome to my home," she said, and felt the wards acknowledge her invitation and allow him access. She held out her hand automatically to shake his, but in a surprisingly fluid move, he deftly turned her hand over and placed a lingering kiss on her knuckles.

The fluttering kicked up a notch.

"Thank you for inviting me," he drawled softly, "I can assure you, that I am _very_ pleased to be here Hermione," he held her gaze (and her hand) and she had to struggle to think coherently as warmth flooded through her.

_What _was_ that?_

She pulled her hand back, albeit a bit reluctantly, and nervously cleared her throat. "Well … erm … great," she knew she sounded like a scared second year, but she couldn't seem to form an intelligent sentence at the moment; she was incredibly flustered in his presence, and incredibly confused as to _why__._

"Why don't we go inside and I'll show you to your room, and then have you …" she paused, horrified, "I mean," she almost spluttered in embarrassment, "have _tea. _Then we can_ have __tea_," she blushed heavily at her Freudian slip.

She was a bloody mess. The man had been here but five minutes, and she was already behaving like a bumbling idiot.

_ How in the holy hell was she going to make it through the rest of his visit if this was how she acted every time she came within five meters of him?_

He seemed amused by her slip up and tightened his hold on her hand, "I can assure you Hermione," he leaned in to whisper softly into her ear, sending a delicious shiver along her spine, "that you can _have __me_ whenever you'd like, but tea would be lovely as well."

His smile was full of confidence and his eyes were full of heat, but she didn't know how to respond to his blatant flirtation. Even she, as dense as she was in the ways of men, could not misinterpret his words or the blatant invitation inherent in them.

_The question was: what now?_

_Would it be considered inappropriate to drag him to her room, pull off all his clothes and beg him to shag her hard? Or was it more polite to wait until after tea?_

_Were there rules about these sorts of things?_

_Should she ask him or just stay quiet and let him assume she knew how in the bloody hell to seduce a man?_

On the other hand, she didn't want him to think she was some sort of harlot that did this all the time. Of course, the state of her virginity would quickly disabuse him of that notion, but she didn't want to scare him off before she even had a chance to try anything.

Sure, she had read some of _those_ books, the books kept in the backroom at Flourish and Blotts, for educating the more adventurous in the art of seduction. But they usually started the instruction when both parties were _already __in_ the bedroom, they never offered any suggestions on how to actually _get_ the person there to begin with.

She and Ron had only ever gotten as far as some rather heated (and very sloppy) kisses before she put a stop to things, so trying to seduce him had never been an issue. The real problem had been keeping him from trying to hump her leg every time they were alone together. He was like a friggin dog, all humping hips and slobbery tongue.

It had been dead annoying, not to mention disgusting, and it had taken her a long time to brave the male species again after that.

Hermione had kissed other men, but it usually never got past the second date before realizing that things weren't going to work out. As soon as she would try to start a conversation to discover mutual interests, her dates would find some excuse to leave and never contact her again. Forgotten Healer appointments, sudden cases of Dragon Pox, allergies to her perfume (even when she wasn't wearing any), she was like a pariah when it came to men. They were initially interested, but she seemed to repel most men once she opened her mouth.

It was very frustrating, and quite disheartening.

Which was why she needed to strike while the iron was hot with Severus as she may not get another chance.

_Since he was the one to offer, did that indicate his agreement to forgo the usual rules of polite society and get right to the shagging, or was she supposed to play at flirting and innuendo for an indiscriminate amount of time before she took off her clothes? _

_Wasn't knowing he was a sure thing supposed to make this whole thing easier? If so, then why was she even more confused now?_

_Bloody hell! Now she _really_ needed to talk to Ginny._

"Oh … well … erm," she was still obviously having a problem with her brain to tongue connection, and wondered if he would change his mind about her reputed intelligence, "Why don't you follow me and I'll show you to your room so you can undress …_UNPACK__!_" she added desperately; wondering if she banged her head (repeatedly) against the door frame it would make much difference, "So you can un_pack_!"

She was almost running as she led him to his room, even more mortified after hearing his quiet chuckle. At least _someone_ was finding humor in her inability to open her mouth without inserting her entire bloody leg.

She sounded like a pathetic cow in desperate need of a good shag.

In all honesty, she might be a _bit_ desperate, but she was only _slightly_ pathetic. She just hadn't intended to make him aware of that fact _quite_ so soon.

When they arrived at his room (which was conveniently located right next to hers) she opened the door and waved him in almost impatiently, anxious for a few moments alone to splash water on her very red face (or hang herself; whichever) when he hesitated next to her before entering the room.

His nearness was wrecking havoc with her nerves, and his scent, a sensual blend of sandalwood and something a bit spicier, flooded her senses and made her want to lick his neck to see if his skin tasted as good as it smelled. She took a deep breath, and plastered a smile on her face. She was determined to be a proper hostess; she simply needed to shove aside the wanton sex goddess straining to burst forth, and channel the refined, intelligent woman she was.

At least that's what she was shooting for.

"Dinner won't be for another hour, but call for Mindy if you need anything," Hermione had never realized what sensual lips Severus had, they were a bit on the thin side, but when they curved in that small half smirk of his. "… or me," she said almost without thinking, as her mind filled with images of kissing those very lips.

_What was she talking about again?_

And suddenly those lips were moving closer, and she held her breath in anticipation.

_Was this it? Would he kiss her? Should she kiss him?_

"I'll unpack and have a quick wash up," he leaned in and placed a lingering kiss, a kiss so light it was almost a whisper, on her cheek before speaking; his voice as soft as his kiss, "I will meet you downstairs for dinner in an hour. Thank you."

She stood there in a foggy haze of lust as he entered the room and closed the door behind him, and it took almost a full minute before she was able to make her legs move away from the closed-door when all they wanted to do was barrel the damn thing down so she could have her wicked way with the seductive wizard … the seductive wizard who smelled amazing … the amazing smelling seducer.

Once she had a minute to clear her mind she made a startling realization. The bastard knew _exactly_ what kind of effect he had on her.

The amazing smelling seducer indeed! Maybe that was his superpower or something, the ability to seduce a witch with just his smell alone ... and maybe his eyes, and ... definitely his voice. His voice alone was almost enough to make her spontaneously orgasm.

This was what came from twenty-eight years of stored sexual energy ... one breathy kiss and she was goo.

_How pathetic was that?_

She stormed off to her room and directly into her bathroom, anxious to cool her heated skin and hopefully clear her head before meeting up with him again. She needed to get her game face on and leave behind this simpering foolish girl who couldn't even speak in his presence. She needed to show him that she was all woman and could handle whatever he threw at her.

She was _pretty_ sure she could.

_Mostly_ sure anyway.

She decided to change clothes into something a bit more alluring, in the hopes of giving herself a much-needed boost of confidence, so she slipped into a fitted black skirt and a deep green silk blouse that highlighted her assets and offered just a hint of cleavage.

Okay, a bit more than a hint, truth be told, but she needed to play to her strengths.

She opted for shorter heels out of self-preservation as her track record so far had hardly been impressive; tripping down the stairs in her three-inch pumps would hardly convince Severus of her gracefulness and smooth sophistication. After a quick swipe of mascara and gloss, a quick brush of her hair and a small prayer to the gods of seduction, she was ready.

Dinner, thankfully, started out well; he was very complementary of her appearance, held her chair out for her and even offered to pour the wine, all without any mishaps. She finally started to relax.

Until he reached for her hand.

The spark she felt as soon as his fingers touched hers had startled her so much that she instinctively jerked her hand away from him then watched in horrified fascination as the lovely bottle of wine, so deep red it resembled blood against the white linen tablecloth, spilled into his lap and caused a chain reaction that she could have neither foreseen nor prevented.

He immediately jumped up, his chair falling to the floor in his haste, at the same time that she grabbed her wand to try to clean up the mess. Unfortunately, just as she was whipping her wand around to try to fix things, he was bending over to pick up the bottle which had fallen. Next thing she knew, Severus had one hand clamped over the eye she had just jabbed her wand into and the wine bottle lay forgotten on the floor (along with half the food; he had inadvertently grabbed the table-cloth to steady himself and accidentally pulled it too hard).

"Oh Severus," Hermione cried in horror at what she had done, grabbing his face in an attempt to see the extent of the damage she had caused with her clumsiness and bumbling about.

"I am so, so sorry," she apologized profusely.

He waved away her words as he blinked rapidly, his eye very red and watering madly while he attempted to make light of the situation. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he said shortly.

Hermione's nerves, which were usually made of steel, just couldn't take it any more, and she promptly burst into tears.

"What in the bloody hell is _wrong_ with me? I am a complete menace!" She cried as she buried her face in her hands, too mortified to even look at him any longer. Thankfully, she had never been one for histrionics, so her tears didn't last long. When she finally found the courage to look at him, she wanted to cry all over again.

He was scowling in obvious pain, his face was red and tear streaked, and his eye was very swollen.

"All I wanted was for you to like me," she said softly, "I am _so_ sorry Severus, it's fairly obvious that I'm rubbish at flirting, I couldn't seduce my way out of a paper sack, and I'll probably die a virgin," she ignored his intake of breath at her words, "I think it's probably best if I just leave you alone, you'll be safer that way." She stood up and gently placed her napkin next to her plate before giving him one last apologetic glance, "I'll see you in the morning," her 'I hope' going unheard.

She hurried out of the room, her plan and her self-confidence completely shattered, and she wondered if she would even see him in the morning. Maybe he would realize what a disaster she was and decide to leave that very night.

She could hardly blame him.

_How could she be such a successful writer, researcher, and overall powerful witch, and be a complete failure when it comes to men? Did she somehow use up her genetic quota of good genes on her brain leaving none left over for charm, poise, and the ability to speak to a man she fancied without imploding?_

It certainly seemed that way.

Suddenly, just being the world's best aunt didn't sound so bad. She would write lots of books; do her part to change the world as it were, and they would become her children.

Her books would be her legacy.

**ooOoo**

_A __virgin__?_

How in the bloody hell is that woman; that incredibly sexy, breathtakingly beautiful, scarily brilliant, woman, _a __virgin_?

The men in Britain were all boobs. That was the only answer that made any sense.

Blind, idiotic, ignorant boobs!

He swallowed down a dose of healing potion and sighed in relief as he eye stopped throbbing, and left the dining room in search of Hermione. He needed to somehow salvage this ... _debacle_ was the only word that came to mind as he replayed what had happened that evening.

He had tried to play it suave. Tried to let her know, without a doubt, that he was hers for the taking, but it had backfired and his attempts at seduction had only made her more nervous.

He never would have done it had he known she was a virgin.

_A __virgin__!_

**ooOoo**

Hermione watched out her bedroom window as the sun set, bathing the entire landscape in a soft orange glow. This was one of the main reasons she had purchased this house; the view was breathtaking. Yet tonight, the majestic vista held no attraction for her as she pondered the abysmal failure the evening had become in such a short amount of time.

She heard the knock on her door and sighed, she had known this was coming but had hoped he would at least wait until morning to leave. At least he was going to tell her before going, that should count for something she supposed.

"Come in," she said, loud enough for him to hear, but stubbornly (or cowardly, in this case) maintained her place by the window. It would be easier on both if he just said what he had come to say and left without anymore messy scenes. This would be hard enough as it was, because even though she had made a complete fool of herself; had spilled wine on him, almost stabbed his eye out, could barely form coherent sentences when he was close ... she still wanted him to stay.

Desperately.

She could see his reflection in the window as he approached her, and could feel the heat from his body as he came to stand behind her ... mere centimeters behind her, and her body swayed closer to his, almost hypnotically, before she forced it to be still.

"I can see why you like this house so much," he said quietly, as if loathe to break the quiet of the room, "I imagine this view would be spectacular in the morning."

Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as he looked around her room, noting the over-sized bed that faced the picture window they were standing in front of. She had always loved waking up in this room for that very reason, and some mornings even had coffee in bed just so she could prolong the pleasure.

"It is," she added simply, unsure why he hadn't yet told her he was leaving and just be done with it.

She felt him before she ever heard or saw him move. His hands settled gently, almost hesitantly, on her shoulders. Her breathing hitched but she was afraid to speak for fear she would jinx whatever it was he was doing, and she wanted it too much to ruin it.

When she didn't object to his touch, he seemed to take that as tacit approval for him to continue, and one of his hands gently slid across her collarbone to brush her hair away from her neck as he leaned closer to whisper in her ear. His warm breath felt delicious against her exposed skin and she allowed her body to fall back against his much taller one.

"I _do_ like you Hermione," he kissed the sensitive stretch of skin just under her ear and she couldn't control the soft moan that escaped at the feel of his lips. "I _more_ than like you," he placed feather light kisses along her neck, down, and then slowly ... so very slowly, he worked his way back up. His simple kisses wrecked her, and she was awash in sensation.

"And I would like," his fingers left a trail of heat as they lightly traveled down her arm to entwine with her smaller ones, bringing their joined hands up towards her stomach and pulling her back more firmly into his chest. "... more than anything actually," the hand on her left shoulder mimicked the movements of the right until she was cocooned within his warm embrace. Hermione savored the feel of their bodies pressed together so intimately; she closed her eyes and laid her head against his shoulder; his words and his scent overpowering her. "... to wake up and enjoy this view with you tomorrow morning," he gently nipped at the tender juncture where her neck and shoulder met and she hissed in pleasure, "... and many mornings after that, if you'll allow me."

It took a few moments for her addled brain to register his words, and then another few seconds to actually comprehend their meaning.

_He wanted her!_

_He still, after everything she had done ... after making a complete prat of herself, he still wanted her!_

_Halle-fricken-lujah!_

She savored the feel of his lips and his arms and knew she could get lost in the feelings he was evoking in her; her body almost humming in pleasure and contentment. She felt complete, as trite and cliché as that sounded, it was the only way she could describe the overwhelming sense of _rightness_ she felt being held in his arms.

_But__,_ the still skeptical part of her mind chose that moment to interrupt her soliloquy and try to impart a modicum of reason and sense into her muddled brain, _you __don__'__t __even __really __know __him__, __how __is __this __possible__?_

That sobering thought was enough to make her pull away from Severus and turn to face him, confusion and regret warring inside her, but she couldn't think when she was so close to him.

"How?" she asked pleadingly, "How is this possible? I don't even know you, yet I feel so many things when you touch me," his stunned look was replaced by an answering look of confusion, "I mean, seriously Severus, we've talked for what, five minutes total in the past ten years, and now we're falling into bed together," _and hopefully doing it again and again, _her traitorous libido piped up.

She ignored it in lieu of getting her point across.

"Doesn't that scare the living daylights out of you? Doesn't it bother you at all?" He frowned as he considered her words, but she decided to just get it all out at once since (miracle of miracles) she seemed able to express herself without tripping over her tongue.

"Why do I feel things with you that I have _never_ felt before? And when I say never, I mean never! I am a twenty-eight year old virgin for fuck sake, why, in all that time, has _no __one_ tempted me enough to lose it? Yet five minutes in your company and I'm ready to drop my knickers and beg you to make me yours?" she was almost panting as the words flew from her mouth in a torrential flood of uncertainty.

She finally took a breath and her voice softened as she asked what was really on her mind.

"Why do I feel complete when you hold me, like it's some sort of ... of ... _fated_ occurrence?" she paused and met his searching eyes, eyes that suddenly seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe within their black depths.

"Or ... _destiny_," they said together, their eyes communicating their surprise, wonder, and finally, conviction.

It scared the bloody piss out of her.

**ooOoo**

"I cannot answer any of those questions, Hermione," Severus answered quietly as he cautiously approached her, afraid she would bolt if he moved too quickly, "All I can tell you is that they are the same things I have asked myself over the last few months," at her perplexed look, he explained.

"I have watched and admired you from afar for a while now," He hoped he didn't sound stalkerish; he suspected he only had one shot at this and he wanted to make sure he got it right. "I was in the Three Broomsticks for a drink one Thursday evening, when an absolutely gorgeous woman entered the pub to meet her date, who was apparently quite late," he saw the dawning realization in her eyes and wondered if she was angry at him.

"You were _there__?_ You _saw__?_" she groaned as she remembered the very public scene she had made in the pub that first night.

"I saw a beautiful woman put a Neanderthal in his place," he said with a smile, hoping for an answering one in return.

No such luck.

"I also saw that same woman spectacularly tell off an ignorant clod a few weeks later, right before she fell, like a gift from the heavens, into my lap," Hermione sucked in her breath, and covered her mouth with a shaky hand, "and I witnessed her leave in tears as my godson left with another man, afraid that her heart had just been broken … but very glad to discover later that it had not been."

He reached out and grabbed her free hand, using his other to gently stroke her smooth cheek still pink with embarrassment. "Imagine my surprise when I discovered that woman was none other than Hermione Granger … the same woman I had dreamed about since she barreled into me at the Victory Ball so long ago. I have been slowly and inexplicably falling in love with you for eight years Hermione," he paused when he saw her eyes begin to fill, and he wondered if he was saying too much too soon, but he garnered up his courage and continued.

"I have made so many mistakes in my life, too many to count actually, but the one mistake I will _not_ make is walking away from you, from this _thing_ between us, without doing everything in my power to convince you to give me a chance. Every other man in Britain might be a blind idiot for not seeing how rare and wonderful you are, but I am not. Your beauty steals my breath, your intellect boggles my mind and your determination to change the world for the better inspires me."

She smiled for the first time since his arrival in her room, and he felt his heart lurch at the sight. No one had ever smiled at him like that; looked at him as if he were … special.

He moved forward slowly, intent on kissing her, but wanting to give her ample opportunity to stop him if she so desired.

She didn't.

Didn't stop him.

Instead she looked up at him with silent yearning and he took what was so temptingly offered.

The first feel of her lips against his was a revelation, and when he finally swiped his tongue along her plump bottom lip and she opened her mouth to welcome him in, his body filled with the most intense heat as their tongues explored the contours, shape and feel, of the other.

Kissing Hermione Granger was a defining moment in his life; a moment of singular beauty and clarity. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was right where he was supposed to be.

He had once believed he had found (and then forever lost) the love of his life; now he knew that _this_ was where he was meant to be; Hermione was who he was meant to be with, and all of his life up to this point had led here … to _this_ woman … and he would do _everything_ in his power to convince her of his sincerity and devotion.

His moment of bliss was interrupted, however, when a slightly dazed looking Hermione pulled back and glared at him ... _glared_ at _him_ … before slapping him on the arm.

_What the hell?_

She now had her hands on her hips and he couldn't tell if she was truly angry or just acting, but her words caught him off guard.

"It was _you_ that laughed at me wasn't it?"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank you for the wonderful reviews I've been getting (even those 'guest' reviews I can't respond to) and special thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

Hermione watched as he absently took another bite of toast, his eyes glued to the printout he had been reading for the past hour. She had an identical printout and should have been studying it just as intently, but she couldn't seem to get her brain to focus on anything except him.

The way his long, sensual fingers stroked absent-mindedly along his bottom lip as he read; something she herself did when completely engrossed in something new, but she doubted she looked as delectably lickable as he did right at that moment. She could practically see the cogs in his prolific brain turning as he digested the information she was sharing with him … and those lips … the same lips that had kissed her last night … again and again and again, until she had been nothing more than a molten puddle of goo... those lips should come with a warning.

Sweet Circe could that man kiss.

From slow languid kisses that thickened her blood until it felt like treacle running through her veins and warming up every inch of her body, to passionate, needy kisses that made her quake with desire and filled her veins with fiery heat ... and everything imaginable in between. She had no idea there were so many ways to kiss a person … and Severus, the 'Amazing Smelling Seducer,' Snape (ASS for short) had perfected them all.

Yes, he was an ASS, but in the best way possible.

After she had jokingly (mostly jokingly) called him out for laughing at her horrible blind dates, they had relaxed (somewhat) and talked … and kissed, and talked some more … and kissed _a __lot __more, _ until they had finally fallen asleep in her big, comfy bed, wrapped around each other like complimentary puzzle pieces. It had been amazing, and she had slept quite soundly, despite the incongruity of having a near stranger sleeping beside her.

Of course, this morning had been a bit awkward. And by awkward she meant that he had a slightly prominent (okay, it was more than _slightly_ prominent) reaction to waking up next to a warm body. She had vaguely recalled that he seemed larger than average the night before, but she was so lost in a lustful haze, it hadn't really registered exactly _how __much_ larger until that morning.

It startled her because it was bigger than any she had ever seen or felt. Not that she had ever actually _seen_ one up close and personal before, but she had felt Ron's against her leg, and had accidentally walked in after Harry and Ginny had been snogging and had seen the very clear evidence of Harry's arousal (a visual she could have gone her whole life without seeing). She had also once accidentally caught George in the shower ... _w__ashing (_or at least that's what he _claimed_ he was doing). And, of course, there was Draco and Blaise … again, a sight she was more than happy to forget.

She refused to dwell on the fact that, for a virgin, she had apparently seen more than her fair share of erect male appendages … unfortunately, none had prepared her for the feel of that monstrosity unconsciously rubbing against her bum this morning. She wasn't _completely_ naïve in the ways of the world, and knew the store some women placed on size (at least that's what Parvati and Lavender had always considered most important), but she couldn't help but wish that the man who eventually 'made her a woman,' was packing a little less heat.

She wondered if it was something she would have to work up to … like learning to ride a bike. You started out with training wheels and when you felt more confident … more ready … you removed them. Before you know it you're riding like a pro.

She snickered as the image of a penis with training wheels attached suddenly popped into her head.

Of course, she realized that 'working up to it,' would _usually_ entail her bedding a smaller man first, but she wasn't sure very many men would be amenable to being measured _before_ she consented to sleep with them ... men's ego's were very fragile about that kind of thing. But after last night, she didn't think she _could_ sleep with anyone else. She _only_ wanted Severus.

At least emotionally.

Physically … she wasn't so sure.

Well, she was _sure, _but not sure she was _able_.

She could just imagine how _that_ conversation would go;_ '__Sorry __Severus__, __I __can't __shag __you __because __I'__m __afraid __of __being __permanently __damaged,__'_ or, she could always just use Ron's favorite euphemisms: '_Your __Hippogriff __is __simply __too __big __to __fit __in __my __love __cave__.'_

Or maybe not!

Somehow she doubted having a serious conversation about such a sensitive topic using the vernacular of a male with the maturity and mentality of a sixteen year old teenage boy would not be very productive.

She pulled her mind away from Severus' body parts (albeit grudgingly) and turned her focus back to the information in front of her.

The data from the first sixteen countries had been compiled and graphed based on the parameters she had specified in the computer; namely: population demographics broken down by sex, age and blood status; the ratio of magical births to squibs in each group; employment breakdown based on blood status; and finally, governmental staffing.

Severus had been dubious at first when she had explained how she was utilizing computers to do the mundane number crunching, but after giving him a brief overview of how computers worked (he only knew the very basic concept) and explaining how much easier things were progressing since they had begun using them, he had seemed grudgingly impressed.

Or at least she suspected he was impressed since he didn't scoff and sneer … that practically counted as a glowing recommendation where Severus Snape was concerned.

Things were panning out pretty much as she had expected with a few glaring exceptions, and the exceptions were what concerned her. Hermione had contacts all over the globe, and some of the things she had uncovered had alternately amazed and worried her. For the most part, the wizarding world, as a whole, had fewer problems with inequality and prejudice than her little wizarding community was struggling with, but even they were decidedly less advanced than their muggle counterparts in almost every area (with the glaring exception of many underdeveloped third world countries).

Because muggles didn't have magic to solve all their problems, they were driven to constantly seek new and improved solutions to the issues they were faced with. Conversely, because wizards _did_ have magic to solve all their problems (or most of them at least) innovation and advancements were few and far between. Wizards prided themselves on their traditions and long history and were content with things as they are. The old adage of 'if it's not broke, don't fix it,' could have been a mission statement for the wizarding world.

Or more accurately: 'if it's not broke according to the purebloods, then leave it the bloody hell alone, or else.'

Unfortunately, this applied to equality and blood status as well.

While Britain seemed the most extreme when it came to prejudicial treatment based on blood status, they were not (as she was finding out) the only country that had issues. Canada, the US, Australia, Brazil and India were the most progressive in regards to equality for all magical beings; creatures and humans alike. But countries like Russia, Bulgaria, and many Middle Eastern countries like Egypt were veritable breeding grounds for supporters to Voldemort's cause.

So far, the rest of the countries seemed to fall somewhere in the middle of the two extremes, and, as Hermione was discovering, despite not having to deal with psychotic megalomaniacs, each country had its own unique set of problems to deal with.

The one common denominator that Hermione kept falling back on, however, was the August body of wizards specifically created to establish a standard set of procedures and laws for the entire wizarding world … the International Confederation of Wizards, or the ICW. Unfortunately, this supposed _governing_ body (headed by Albus Dumbledore for almost fifty years) had done little in the way of real _governing__;_ concerning itself more with minor infractions better left to each individual ministry to handle on their own, and completely losing sight of the bigger picture.

Hermione suspected Dumbledore had a larger hand in that than anyone suspected.

The ICW had slowly become less effective the longer Dumbledore had been in charge. His predecessor, Albert Gregorovitch (brother to the famed Bulgarian wand maker) and a powerful wizard in his own right, was discovered to have ties to Grindelwald and consequently removed as Chief Warlock after Grindelwald's death in 1945. The discovery that Grindelwald (and by association Gregorovitch) had actually been a key player in Hitler's bid for power (and indirectly responsible for so many muggle and wizard deaths) had been a huge blow to the group determined to stay out of 'muggle politics.' Albus Dumbledore, Deputy Warlock, newly victorious after his defeat of his former lover, was elected to be the 'new face' of the ICW.

According to what little she was able to discover about that time period, Dumbledore spent the next few years 'cleaning house' as it were, and building up his own support base of loyal followers. As he was purported to be one of the most powerful wizards of his generation, that was not hard to do. It also helped explain why there was no ICW involvement when Voldemort came to power.

It would have interfered with Dumbledore's 'plan' … the plan to grow a weapon.

Harry Potter.

It did not, however, explain why they did not step in and help after Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and was poised to take over all of wizarding Britain. The ICW has a special department, whose sole purpose (according to their own charter) was to act as a separate law enforcement agency (similar to MI-6, or the CIA) to settle any disbutes that the acting government couldn't handle. Yet they had done nothing.

Had they been waiting until Voldemort made a move outside the country before they would act? Were they acting on orders from their previous leader posthumously?

Or, as she suspected was more likely, the ICW had its own share of pureblood sympathizers. Most notably, Gerald Aswad, Dumbledore's previous deputy; elected into the head position after Dumbledore's death. Hermione had met him once and instantly disliked him. He reminded her too much of a used car salesman; all smarmy charm and forked tongue. She much preferred his deputy, Tung Sheng, who had been instrumental in bringing about major reforms in his own country, but seemed to be at an impasse in the ICW.

She had first met with Chairman Tung while researching her book on healing potions, and instantly recognizing a fellow bibliophile and swot, had developed a rather unorthodox friendship with the austere man. It was he, in fact, who had shared with Hermione his growing concerns over the future of the ICW.

Unfortunately, she could only fight one battle at a time, but if her 'war' exposed corrupt officials in the ICW ... well, then it was win-win as far as she was concerned.

Chairman Tung would make an excellent Chief Warlock.

Hermione knew she would have to deal with the ICW before she made a decisive move against her government; as she was (technically) planning to essentially replace most existing members of the Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of Directors, and the Ministry, it would not do to have the ICW interfere. It would be just her luck that when she _didn__'__t_ want them to, they would choose that moment to do so. Before that could happen, however, she needed to make sure she had all her 'owls in a row' so to speak.

Especially since she planned to use their own laws against them.

Her list of things to accomplish prior to her book being published was growing exponentially; not the least of which was to figure out a way to seduce the sexy wizard sitting across the table from her.

Okay, maybe _seduce_ wasn't the operative word … he had made it very clear that he was a sure thing.

Would _handle_ be a better word? Accommodate? Work in? Grease up and slide naked across the bathroom floor with?

Should she just be honest with him about her concerns? _Could_ she be honest with him about her real reasons for not sleeping with him yet?

Maybe she needed to do some more research.

What if they just weren't compatible sizewise? Was that even possible? Probable? Was she completely blowing everything out of proportion ... _no, he was out of proportion before she ever came along._

She gave herself a mental slap for that last remark. It surely wasn't his fault he was hung like a hippogriff.

Nothing like finally meeting the man who may or may not be your soul mate just to find out you couldn't consummate the relationship … it was like being bitch slapped by fate … and she was sooooooo _not_ amused.

Theoretically, she knew women were physically capable of stretching farther than it would appear they were able to (most babies were larger than a penis after all) but it didn't happen without screaming agony and massive amounts of pain. She had been present during Ginny's labor and delivery of Lily, and she didn't have pleasant memories of any of it. In fact, she was pretty sure she had blocked the entire thing from her mind out of self-preservation.

Is that would it would entail?

_What if she couldn't do this?_

Maybe they were destined to just be friends … friends who groped (and kissed, she definitely wanted to keep kissing him) and maybe they could even touch (touching would be good) and that grinding thing he was doing to her above her clothes felt good too. They could keep doing that.

At least she wouldn't have to worry about contraceptive potions … of course, she wouldn't have to worry about children either.

At. All.

Messy, noisy, dirty, annoying children.

Beautiful, soft, sweet, lovable children.

Yep. She wanted them.

She wanted them with him.

She wanted ASS's babies.

That meant she would have to talk to him. Thankfully, kissing him for hours had relaxed her so she was finally able to articulate easier, now she just needed to figure out the best way to approach it.

It, the subject, not _it_ it.

She noticed that he had just poured himself another cup of coffee and decided it was as good a time as any.

"Severus?" she cleared her throat nervously, waiting for him to look up and acknowledge her, "Can I ask you a question?"

He smirked, "Now there's the Hermione Granger I remember. Ask away."

_Git_.

Her nervous fingers began to shred the cold piece of toast that remained uneaten on her plate, "I was thinking … I mean, I was wondering … that is … " she paused, unsure how to continue.

_How in the hell do you tell someone you're afraid their too large?_

"Hermione," he reached across and grabbed one of her hands, forcing her to drop the mangled pieces of bread. He gave her a reassuring smile … a very un-Snapelike smile, "I thought we were past this. You don't have to be nervous, I'm not going anywhere. You can ask me anything."

She smiled back, but she suspected her smile was a bit brittle as she searched her supposed prodigious brain for the best words to use, "I'mafraidyou'retoobigforme." Even saying the words quickly had caused her to blush profusely, and she had to force herself not to look away from his eyes.

His very confused eyes.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch any of that Hermione," he said quietly

She took a deep breath. She could do this. If she wanted to actually _have_ sex, she should at least be able to _talk __about_ sex like a mature adult.

_Right?_

"Okay, here's the thing, I know you've been with lots of women because I read about it in the papers … even though none of them lasted more than a date or two, and at the time I thought that had more to do with you loving Lily, and not because they couldn't handle you. But after last night and this morning I'm forced to reevaluate. I'm just not sure how you do it … or realistically, how _they_ do it …. although some of them _did_ seem to have questionable morals, so maybe they had a lot of experience. Which would definitely make them more _worked __in__,_ but I _do __not_ have any experience, so I'm not worked in at all … and we would probably have to work up to it, which would mean me being with someone smaller, but I don't want to be with anyone else, and I wasn't sure how you would feel about me being with someone else first, so … ,"

"Hermione!" he interrupted her almost manic verbal onslaught, completely flabbergasted, "What in the hell are you on about woman? Take a deep breath, slow down," he gave her a pointed look, "e … nun .. ci … ate, and try again."

**ooOoo**

_Worked __in__? __A __smaller __man__? __Be __with __someone __else__? __What in the bloody hell is she talking about?_

Severus stomped down the sudden fear that filled his gut, as bits and pieces of her tirade stood out more clearly than others. He could have sworn they had resolved their issues last night. He thought they were finally on the same page.

So what was all this? Whatever she was so upset about, it obviously had something to do with the women he had dated in the past.

_Did she hold that against him?_

He wasn't exactly proud of his actions, but he had never claimed to be either a virgin or celibate. And how did Lily come into play? Did she still doubt his feelings for her?

She looked embarrassed and completely ill at ease now; he had hoped they were past all that awkwardness after last night.

Last night.

Last night had been amazing.

With the kissing … and the talking too, of course … but mostly the kissing … and the groping … and a little bit of rubbing (much too little actually).

It had been wonderful, and they had connected in ways he had never connected with another human being before (not even Lily; _especially_ not Lily) and he had opted to take it slow and not push her. Afterwards, she had fallen asleep in his arms, and it had been heaven.

This morning had been a bit embarrassing, but he couldn't help nature; her bum was quite luscious, so it really was _her_ fault, truth be told, so _he_ shouldn't be held accountable for that … and it hadn't helped that her lush breasts had been so temptingly displayed in that small bit of fabric she called a shirt …

"How did they do it?" she finally blurted out, her shrill tone dragging his mind back out of the gutter where it had begun to descend (and would have probably remained, if left unchecked).

He was at a complete loss.

_How did they do what? Who were they, and what did they supposedly do?_

"For fear of sounding repetitive," he asked in confusion, "How did _who_ do_ what_?"

"The _women_," she said in clear frustration, "How did the women _do_ it?"

_Was he missing something? Was he supposed to intuitively know what in the bloody hell she was talking about?_

Because he didn't.

Not At All!

"What women?" he asked, growing just as aggravated as her, despite his intention to stay calm, "And _how_ did they do _what__?"_

"_All __those __women__!"_ she yelled, "_How __did __you __fit__?_"

_How did he fit?_

_Huh?_

He knew he hadn't slept much, and he never operated very well when he was tired, but he had absolutely _no __idea_ what was going on. He wondered if he needed to reevaluate his estimation of her intelligence ... then instantly felt guilty for even thinking it.

"Hermione, _please_?" he implored, "I need you to tell me what you mean, because I _really_ don't know what you're asking."

She put her head in her hands, then ran them through her curly hair before looking back up at him, her eyes reflecting her embarrassment, her confusion and her frustration, "The women, Severus, all the women you fucked before," she said simply, "You are huge. _How__ … __did__ … __you__ … __fit__ … __inside__ … __them__?"_

All of the air left his lungs, and he almost choked on the coffee he had just taken a sip of as his mind raced to make sense of her words.

_She thought he was huge?_ Was followed almost immediately by another thought, _Hermione saying 'fuck' was incredibly hot._

Admittedly, she had never been with another man before, and not to boast, but he certainly wasn't _lacking_ in that department, but he wouldn't call himself _huge_ by any stretch of the imagination … of course, he had been complemented on his size before, but he assumed they had just been sucking up (and not in a good way either, more in a 'I want you to marry me so I can lay around and do nothing all day' kind of way).

Now Goyle … that boy was scary huge … monster huge. Even Parkinson had walked funny for days after being with him and she was _well __seasoned _(if the stories were to be believed, and considering they were from other Slytherins, he tended to believe them).

"I _don__'__t __know_ Hermione," he said, completely uncomfortable discussing his past sexual history, "I'm not exactly _proud_ of the fact that I slept with all those women, but I am a man, and after twenty years of celibacy, I felt I deserved some ... _release_," he finished, embarrassed, "But there was never an issue of it not _fitting_. They may have been just meaningless shags, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't try to make it good for them too. Do you think I'm that selfish of a lover? Is that what this is about? Do you think I won't be able to satisfy you?"

**ooOoo**

Hermione felt like crawling into a hole somewhere and hiding. She had royally flummoxed this entire conversation. She simply wanted to share her fears and concerns, and instead had ended up insulting not only his manhood, but his lovemaking skills.

"No Severus … NO!" she quickly moved around the table and knelt before him, taking both of his hands in hers, "I'm just a little scared," she lowered her voice and her eyes, unable to look at him.

"Hermione," Severus reached down and gently lifted her chin so she would meet his eyes. Now that he understood that she was simply afraid, he radiated sincerity and understanding, "you don't have to be nervous, I will not push you to do something you are not ready for, and I would _never_ hurt you. I promise."

She appreciated his words; it was obvious he meant them, but it still didn't resolve her dilemma.

"Severus, I'm afraid you're too big," she glanced pointedly down at his lap and back up again, noting the moment realization dawned, "and you may not _fit_," this time she glanced down at herself.

His abrupt laughter startled and then infuriated her, and she jumped to her feet.

_Did he think this was a joke?_

_Did he find her fears amusing?_

Deciding that she was too angry (and hurt ... and embarrassed ... and humilited) to talk to him about it any longer, she opted to go for a walk and clear her head. Before she could leave, however, he caught her around the waist and hauled her back into his lap and held tight as she struggled to get free.

"Hermione!" he snapped after a particularly painful jab from her flailing elbow, "Calm down woman, I wasn't laughing at you, I was laughing at _myself_ and the _situation_," he clarified.

She looked at him in surprise and not a little wariness, "_What_ about this situation is funny?"she asked testily.

**ooOoo**

Severus struggled not to smile at the picture she made sitting there with her arms tightly crossed and her face mutinous; he wanted to kiss her senseless, but controlled the impulse … just.

"Hermione, you are so incredibly intelligent and talented," he indicated the pages he was reading, "I forget that even though you have been around the world, you are by no means worldly," he paused when she started to object, her nose flaring angrily.

She was adorable when she was angry.

"I mean that in the _best_ possible way," he soothed, bringing her tightly clenched hands up to his lips to kiss, "I love that you are not like those vapid women I dated, who admittedly had questionable sexual habits and few morals, but they suited my mindset _at __the __time_. I no longer find the thought of meaningless liaisons appealing in the least, and haven't in many years, despite what you may have read or heard. The last time I was with a woman was almost three years ago."

She seemed surprised, and he was very thankful she had finally stopped squirming … for many reasons, one of which was the very topic under discussion.

"If I understand you correctly, you are concerned that I am too large for you?" at her embarrassed nod, he continued, "Then let me assure you, my dear," he leaned in and nipped at her fleshy lobe before purring in her ear, her shiver doing little to calm the situation in his lap, "that when you are ready, and not a second before, I will make sure you are more than adequately … prepared … for me."

He trailed his lips down the sensitive skin of her delectable neck, and was pleased to hear the soft moan his kisses elicited, "It may hurt at first, just because I am your first, but I promise you," he pulled her face around so that he was looking directly into her eyes; eyes slightly glassy from his ministrations, "It _will_ fit, and after the first few moments, it _will_ get better."

He couldn't resist any longer, and took her succulent bottom lip into his mouth and gently sucked. She tasted like coffee, the sweet strawberries from breakfast and something purely Hermione … something addictive … something that satisfied him like none other, yet left him constantly craving another taste.

He knew he would have to take things slow with her, but where before he might have been frustrated and impatient at being denied, he was now surprised to find that he was looking forward to what the slow sensual journey of awakening her sexuality would entail.

And then he felt her tongue tentatively seeking out his own and lost all ability to think rationally as he gladly gave her what she was asking for.

Thinking was overrated anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This was originally supposed to just be a cute, fluffy piece that sort of got away from me (Hermione and her darn soapbox), so I tried to find a happy medium between both the serious side and the fluffy side. Hope it doesn't disappoint. **

**Drop me a line and let me know what you think. **

Hermione read the letter again and tried to decide how best to handle her friends' involvement without getting them into too much trouble, especially Harry and Ron since they actually worked for the Ministry. She appreciated their willingness to help her, but suspected Luna had more to do with convincing them to help than she let on; she knew the boys too well. Even Ginny, for all her fiery desire to help fight while in school, had very happily settled into domestic bliss and was content to leave the 'righting of wrongs' to those she deemed more capable. Nowadays, she restricted her violence to browbeating; something she had inherited from Molly and was quite good at, if Harry's submissive behavior at family gatherings was any indication.

The 'boy-who-lived,' became 'the boy-who-defeated-you-know-who' after the war, and had now become 'the man-who-was-thoroughly-whipped.'

It was almost funny, in a sad, emasculating sort of way.

She had met with Luna twice since getting her friends involved, and she was already working on some of the things Hermione had asked her to look into; her 'ditzy' persona served her well when it came to fleshing out stories, as people tended to underestimate her. Even Rita Skeeter (after surprisingly little monetary incentive, a promise for exclusive rights to the story once Hermione was ready to go public and a vow to allow Hermione editing rights before going to print) had joined their motley crew.

Hermione would have never imagined she would be joining forces with Rita 'Quick Quotes' Skeeter, but if 'Looney' Lovegood could become her best friend, and Severus Snape, the dour Potion's Master and renowned "Greasy Git,' could become the man she desired most in the world … than anything was possible.

She also realized that she needed to start associating with people that didn't have idiotic monikers.

It turned out that Rita had a bone (or twelve) to pick with some of the 'pureblood hypocrites' (as she referred to Lucius and his ilk) after she was attacked and her home ransacked, following some rather blatant insinuations she wrote about the Malfoys.

In all fairness, she never actually named names, but if the shoe fit …

Rita, with the help of a few bottles of Firewhiskey (sweet Circe that woman could almost drink Hagrid under the table), had finally broken down and shared the real reason behind her self-proclaimed war against Lucius Malfoy.

Rita drunkenly told the story of Lorelei; a woman who had fallen (after much resistance, apparently) under the seductive spell of Lucius Malfoy. Lorelei was beautiful and was blessed with abundant 'assets' that Lucius found especially irresistible. Her initial refusal had proved a challenge to the pampered pureblood king; her capitulation became his obsession. But like with most things, once he got what he wanted it was no longer fun; the thrill was gone.

And so was she ... Lucius tossed her aside like yesterday's rubbish.

While Hermione empathized with the woman (although a woman would have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to recognize Lucius for the lecherous bastard he was), she was still confused about Rita's connection. Rita Skeeter was a viperous pit bull and hardly seemed the type to suddenly take up the banner for the cause of mistreated women. So what was in it for her?

It took another entire bottle of Old Ogden's Finest before Rita finally came clean ... well, clean was a relative term. Rita drunk sobbing was not a pretty sight, but it accomplished what nothing else ever had ... it proved Rita had a heart. Lorelei was Rita's long time lover (Hermione almost swallowed her tongue when she heard _that _bit of news). Needless to say, Rita had been livid; both at the infidelity of her partner, and at the egotistical pureblood for playing with others lives like they meant nothing. She had forgiven the former and vowed eternal revenge against the latter.

Personally, Hermione would have broken things off with her perfidious partner before going after the man who hurt her … but what did she know; she doubted many people would be willing to accept relationship advice from a twenty-eight year old virgin with a string of failed first dates.

She could almost picture her column in_ Witch Weekly_: 'Hermione Granger; Advice to the Lovelorn.'

… _'Miss Granger, my partner has cheated on me. Should I forgive him and allow him back into my bed, __or should I kick him to the proverbial curb?' … signed Betrayed in Bristol._

… _Well Miss Betrayed, based on my vast experience with the opposite sex …_

Yeah … not bloody likely.

It would be like the blind leading the blind_er_.

Not that she didn't feel Lucius deserved some comeuppance for his disgusting behavior towards Rita's fickle lover (not to mention his blatant disregard for his own marriage vows) but she had bigger fish to fry. However, if it got Rita squarely in her corner, than she could commiserate till she was bloody blue in the face, especially if it convinced Rita to share her dirt. She doubted Lucius Malfoy even spared a thought for the consequences of_ his_ actions, nor did he give one whit if he hurt someone as long as he selfishly sated his own desires.

Her conscience was clear.

Well, mostly clear.

While Rita would never be someone Hermione trusted completely (or even consider a friend), she couldn't deny that the woman had a right to her anger, and she had actually mellowed quite a bit since the war. Turns out even lying slags can develop a sense of moral outrage when the heart is involved and things hit too close to home. Either way, Hermione refused to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth, and she willingly got into bed with the enemy … figuratively speaking.

Even if she did play for the other team, Rita would most definitely_ not_ be her type. Even_ she_ had to draw the line somewhere … and Rita Skeeter, naked and amorous, was just simply … uucckk … regardless of what goodies she brought to the game.

Again, figuratively speaking only … she had no desire to see_ any_ of Rita's 'goodies.'

_Why did her mind constantly come round to sex all the time lately?_

She knew what it was, and she almost sighed in satisfaction as she covertly appraised the delectable bit of man meat sitting across the table from her. She laughed internally at her characterization of a man who, despite the improvements to his looks, would never be called handsome, much less delectable by conventional standards … but he had a certain something that made Hermione's insides clench and her stomach quiver in anticipation.

She was convinced he had cast a spell on her … a lust spell, or a 'I want to jump across the table and lick you right now' spell. It was just so … disconcerting, to suddenly have her well-ordered and focused mind turn to mushy mush at just the thought of him.

Especially his hands … he had really, really nice hands. Hands that she just knew could do amazing things to her secret places. Not to mention his lips … sweet Circe don't get her started on his lips … the way that man kissed should be illegal, or at least it should only be legal for him to kiss_ her_.

She thought that was more than fair.

But back to Rita … yes … focus.

Rita had been gathering evidence for a while in the hopes of being able to find a way to use the information to bring about some payback for what Lorelei (and by extension, Rita) had suffered at the hands of the sanctimonious arse and his cronies. She had jumped at the opportunity to join the team when Hermione had briefly outlined what she had planned (after first getting a secrecy vow), and Rita had consented to share her already impressive blackmail files.

So now she had two very tenacious and crafty nifflers on the scent. If there was dirt to be found, Luna or Rita would find it.

Those bastards would never even know what hit them.

Hermione had compiled a file on every member of the Wizengamot, Hogwarts Board of Governors, the senior members in the Ministry, and even suspected corrupt members in the ICW, kept under very heavy wards, and coded with her own personal security spells. While most of the files detailed fairly incriminating evidence of laws broken or bent, suspected payoffs and bribes taken or paid out correlating with votes cast on major issues, the rest of the files contained items of a more personal nature, and while not Azkaban worthy, the contents, if revealed, would be potentially embarrassing all the same.

The last bastion she needed to overcome was the hidden and mysterious world of goblin banking.

It had absolutely amazed her when she first learned that there was only _one _bank that handled all the financial dealings for the entire British wizarding community … the world actually, as branches of Gringotts were located throughout the globe. Talk about a monopoly.

The goblins had been less than pleased with her and the boys after the fiasco with the dragon, but once she started receiving royalties from her first book, she had approached Ragnok, the Goblin Chieftain and Gringotts President, about making reparations. One could say that she wanted to do the right thing and pay her debt, but in reality, she was tired of being snubbed and sneered at when she entered the bank; and if she were being honest, it was quite unnerving to have the short, but admittedly fierce, creatures angry at her.

After paying a hefty penalty, providing a replacement dragon with the help of Charlie, and vowing to never again attempt to break into the bank (even if the world was ending) she had settled into a respectable working relationship with the goblins.

It also helped that she was now earning quite a bit of money and had passed along some extremely profitable investment tips based on her own Arithmancy calculations. She had nearly tripled her holdings in the eight years since the 'truce' had been declared, and as a result, made the goblins a hefty profit as well.

She had discovered that little tidbit quite by accident one day when she was at a standstill on her second book. Tired, frustrated and eager for a distraction, she began playing around with some numbers and the business section of the_ Daily Telegraph (_some people watched the telly or listened to music when bored, she read or did Arithmancy predictions) and made the startling realization that stock fluctuations could be predicted … for the most part, if she added a runic variable in the same place every time.

She tested her theory for almost a year before sharing her stock picks with her account manager, and he, in turn, watched her for almost six months with increasing awe, before finally passing along her suggestions to the rest of the bank. Ragnok had been very pleased with her 'innate ability' (she wasn't stupid enough to disclose how she was doing it) and had proposed an arrangement. He would give her a higher interest rate on her money and an unspecified favor at a later date, and she would share her 'intuitive investment choices.'

Goblins took money, and the making of it, very seriously.

But now it was time to call in her favor, she needed to trace the money. She needed physical proof of payouts and bribes before approaching Kingsley with her suspicions, and the goblins were the only ones that could provide it. She would, however, offer an additional incentive for Ragnok's cooperation.

She planned to encourage Kingsley to create an addendum that allowed the Ministry to assign a substantial penalty to 'any person found complicit in any measures intended to be prejudicial to good order and fair treatment of all persons regardless of blood status, birth, or house affiliation' … or something to that effect (she would leave the actual wording of the laws to the experts). The gist being that the 'substantial penalties' could be in either monetary form, which the goblins would benefit from in the form of interest, or with family heirlooms, many of which were crafted by goblins who still felt (erroneously in her opinion) they deserved to have them returned.

Either way it was a win-win for the shrewd creatures. She just needed to dust off her Slytherin tactics before approaching Ragnok.

Oh, who was she kidding, she was about as subtle as a Hagrid's three-headed dog. She would have to convince Severus to go with her.

As she was putting together the dossiers, she had a sudden, almost debilitating, attack of conscience as she contemplated what she intended to do. Some of the information she had on these wizards was very damning and could not only ruin political aspirations, standing in the community, and personal finances, but marriages and family relationships as well.

_Did she have the right to destroy people's lives just to forward her own agenda? __Is that what she was doing?_

She spent almost an entire day ensconced in her rooms having second thoughts about her plan, and doubting herself and her intentions.

_Was she any better than they were? Was she forcing her opinions and beliefs on others against their will? _

Ultimately, she had come to the conclusion that what they were attempting to do to muggleborns, and to a lesser degree, halfbloods … what they _had done_ to muggleborns for longer than she had been alive, needed to stop. Everyone, regardless of blood, deserved a chance to succeed or fail based on their own merits, and if she didn't do something to stop the injustices plaguing her world, then she would be just as guilty as those actually perpetrating the actual deeds.

As her father always said: 'if you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem.'

All she could do was be true to herself and act as her own conscience and inner moral compass dictated, anything else would mean sacrificing her own values and self-respect. She may not be very worldly when it came to sex, men, or relationships, but she knew when something was wrong. Maybe it was just her innate Gryffindor tendencies making themselves known, but she could no more sit back and _not _get involved than she could suddenly take up a career in professional Quidditch.

In other words … when hell froze over.

Of course, that didn't mean she wasn't concerned and a bit hesitant.

Hermione knew in her heart she was doing the right thing, but it didn't make her feel any better; if the information she had collected was released to the public, innocent people could potentially be hurt. Would that make her any better than Dumbledore, the master manipulator? Or even Voldemort?

The question that remained, however, was simple. If she didn't do it, than who would? Or even more telling, who_ could?_

Suddenly Hermione felt a bit like how Harry must have felt all those years ago, knowing she had to do something, knowing it was (she cringed inside as she thought of the words the headmaster had chanted like a mantra for two decades) for 'the greater good,' even if it was going to hurt some people in the end. She took a small amount of comfort in that at least no one would die as a result of her actions (or at least she hoped not). She truly didn't know how Dumbledore slept at night knowing his plans had resulted in numerous deaths and 'acceptable losses,' even if in the end his plan _had _succeeded and Voldemort was vanquished.

She supposed he would have felt vindicated and used that to justify his actions somehow.

She still didn't buy it.

The most damage her plan would cause would be some heavy fines, possibly a few jail sentences, and maybe a divorce or two. If it meant making the world a better place for her honorary nieces and nephews (and dare she hope, maybe even her own children someday), then the risk was worth it. Besides, they had made their bed (so to speak) and now must lay in it.

Far too many of snakeface's supporters had weaseled out of punishment after the end of the war. That they were up to their old tricks again simply solidified her belief that they deserved what was coming to them. The arrogant sense of entitlement that permeated Britain's wizarding community had to be curtailed before any more damage was done. Memories of Umbitch and her 'Muggleborn Registration Act' caused Hermione to shudder in revulsion, and helped solidify her belief that she was doing the right thing.

She just needed to make sure that if this blew up in their faces that she, and she alone, took the fall. She would not let her friends pay the price for her failure to properly plan. She did have a few contingency plans in place, however, her home in Canada being one of them. Severus, Neville and Luna were the only ones who knew its location, and the only ones that could get access to her wards.

She knew Harry and Ginny still had Godric's Hollow under the Fidelius Charm, and Luna had a home in Brazil that the Ministry was unaware of; she obviously wasn't the only one who felt a need to have a private place away from the spotlight and 'Big Brother' as it were. She just needed to make sure Ron and his family had a place to go if needed, and that Severus knew he was welcome here.

Severus.

She surreptitiously glanced across the table at her … guest? boyfriend? lover? She wasn't sure what to call him as none of the titles seemed to fit what they were. He was definitely more than a friend, but they were not yet lovers, and she was still undecided when_ that_ particular bridge would be crossed.

Things with Severus had moved along more slowly than she would like, truth be told, but after her mini breakdown last week over breakfast, she could hardly blame him for trying to make her feel more comfortable around him, even if it meant taking baby steps in the intimacy department.

He had tried his best to ease her fears about his size despite the embarrassment of both parties at having such a frank discussion about such a sensitive subject. Hermione had never considered herself a prude before and had never shied away from crass jokes of a sexual nature with either the boys or Ginny, but for some reason, talking about things like_ penis size,' vaginal lubrication_, and_ masturbation_ over tea, simply made her want to crawl into bed and bury her face under the covers until she grew a backbone … or thicker skin.

Neither of which could happen fast enough.

She wanted him, of that she had no doubt. The question remained, however, was what did she intend to do about it? She could sit back and let things continue to progress slowly as they had been this past week, and maybe in a few months time they might actually have progressed to actual skin on skin contact. Or she could just swallow her pride (and her anxiety) and make the first move. Pain be damned!

Of course, that brought her forcefully back to her fears again. Irrational as they may be, they were still very valid in her mind and they didn't seem to be fading away. Her feelings for the man sitting across from her where such a confusing mix that even _she_ had a hard time keeping them straight.

She cared for him, of this she had no doubt. They seemed to be connected somehow; she felt it in varying degrees of intensity every time they touched, and the week spent getting to know each other had only solidified that belief. But every time she felt like giving in and inviting him to 'make her a woman' in every sense of the word, that ridiculous image of the enormous penis on wheels would fritter though her mind, and she would be plagued with cold feel.

Maybe she just needed some liquid courage the first time through, like when she had to be immunized before starting primary school. Her mum had given her some medicine to ease her anxiety (she had been absolutely terrified of needles), as a result, she had been a bit loopy and barely even felt the prick of the needle. Maybe the same rules would apply to_ his_ … prick, as it were.

Of course, he might not be as amenable to exploring her proposed solution. Severus had always been an honorable man, even when he was a Death Eater. But maybe if she explained … _no, he still wouldn't do it_. He would say that he would feel like he was taking advantage of her.

But if he had her permission, did that make it okay?

She could see the conversation now. _'Severus, I want you to ravish me while I'm too pissed to see straight' … 'Okay Hermione luv, whatever you want.'_

She snorted into the cold dregs of her coffee cup and blushed slightly when she noticed Severus had looked up from what he was reading to gaze at her inquiringly.

Yep. She was mental.

**ooOoo**

"Alright there?" he asked distractedly, one eyebrow raised. He was engrossed in the pages before him and was trying to refrain from making a snarky comment at the interruption. The new and improved Severus Snape didn't snap and snark near as much as the old one … or at least that's what he told himself every time he felt an acerbic comment aching to burst forth. He had developed a habit of biting his tongue when the overwhelming urge to spew vitriol came upon him, which was still more often than he was comfortable with.

Hermione seemed to shift about nervously and he wondered what was on her mind. She had been surprisingly good company in the week he had been a guest in her home, a fact which, had he been asked even five years ago, he would have deemed improbable. But it was true. It was nice to know he could tolerate more than ten minutes in the same room with the woman he loved. He had met very few women he could say the same about.

Not loving per se (except in the physical sense), but being in the same room with.

She had introduced him to the young research assistants she had working with her, but he rarely saw them as they kept to themselves for the most part, except for brief forays into the kitchen or dining room where they were both engrossed in her current project … well, _their_ current project.

He had embraced the cause with both hands (figuratively speaking). He was still holding back from embracing her cause' he doubted his willpower when it came to stopping. And he had promised her they would take things slowly. He didn't have to like it, but a promise was a promise.

It didn't help that she wore the most alluring clothes imaginable (the woman could make even shorts and a t-shirt look sexy) and the way she filled out a dressing gown should be outlawed. He had walked around the past week in such an extreme state of arousal that it was almost painful at times, and she seemed blissfully unaware of his predicament. Which, in hindsight, was probably a good thing, but it did put a strain on his otherwise mellow mood … not to mention his trousers.

He would have to figure out a way to ease her fears (and try to rein in his primal chest pounding at the cause of her fears, or rather, the_ size_ of the cause of her fears) ... _Merlin, he sounded like a hormonal teen ... _and try harder not to be flattered. But Merlin's pants, he was a_ man_ after all; her irrational fear about his organ aside, how could he _not_ be proud that she thought him well endowed?

Wouldn't that be like complimenting a woman's cooking or something?

Somehow he didn't think complementing her breast size would be the same because he doubted women identified with their breasts the same way men did with their little men … or_ not-so-little_ men as the case may be.

_Bloody hell. _He needed either a very long hot one or a very short cold one_ ... _shower, not anything else._ He had a hot, long one for her though ... _

_And que the sophomoric humor_, he thought in disgust.

It was all Hermione's fault ... she was making him insane.

All in all though, he was enjoying getting to know the woman behind the brains, and was very pleased to discover that she, in no way shape or form, resembled her eleven year old self, which relieved him much more than he wanted to admit. He had done many things he regretted in his life, but one thing he could say in all honesty was that he had never, in all his years of teaching, lusted after a student; just the thought turned his stomach.

Not that he hadn't had the odd Slytherin (both male and female) attempt to entice him into accepting sexual favors for better grades; but he always made sure they understood that wasn't up for discussion. Then he would assign them to gutting flobberworms since they were so eager to get their hands dirty, so to speak.

And he could honestly say he had never dabbled in the pool of available nubile flesh … very few other professors could say the same thing. Even Filius had boasted a fling or two over the years. Frankly, he never saw the attraction. Firm flesh aside, he much preferred a real woman with a real woman's curves, and a real women's intellect and maturity to an insipid giggling teenager any day of the week.

A woman just like Hermione, now that she was no longer a teenager.

She was most definitely_ all_ woman.

He just needed to figure out a way to convince her that he wouldn't hurt her.

**OoOoo**

She blushed as Severus addressed her, unsure if she should tell him what she had been thinking about or just forget the idea ever crossed her mind, but she hadn't been in Gryffindor for nothing, Even if she wasn't brave enough to actually_ do_ the deed, she could, at the very least, suggest a more comfortable alternative.

She cleared her throat self-consciously, "I was just thinking," she squeaked out before taking a quick drink to clear the boulder sized constriction in her throat, "I was wondering if maybe some Firewhiskey might help our situation some?" she looked into his eyes, hoping he understood what she meant without her having to actually come out and say it.

"Firewhiskey?" he asked in evident confusion.

Okay, maybe not.

"Yes, Firewhiskey," she said in exasperation; at herself, not Severus. She was the coward after all, not him. "Firewhiskey. To help take the edge off."

He looked perplexed for a moment, but she say the exact moment when it 'clicked,' and then he just looked irritated.

"You want to be drunk when we make love the first time?" he seemed truly annoyed by the very idea, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was a degenerate for even suggesting it. Surely men didn't mind drunk trysts though … she was fairly certain Ron had bragged quite a few times of drunken fumblings at various pubs, and she knew Harry and Ginny weren't exactly angels when it came to bedroom games. (she knew only because Ginny insisted on sharing every deviant detail until Hermione finally begged her to cease on pain of death). She grudgingly complied, but not before she had let slip how they had gotten pissed a few times and had a few semi public shags.

She wondered if Rita had photos of the golden couple in flagrante delicto.

But that was veering off the subject at hand, and no matter how much she would dearly love to veer off the subject, she would never lose her virtue at this rate.

_Merlin that sounded horrible_. Losing her virtue. It was like she became a scarlet woman or something once the deed was done.

How come women were said to_ lose_ something … their innocence, their virtue, their maidenhood, their purity … and yet for men, the_ very same_ act held more positive connotations? They_ become_ men, they_ gain_ their manhood, they_ prove_ their virility.

Just another example of the nuances of living in a male dominated society.

Poppycock!

"I don't mean drunk exactly," she said, her voice reflecting her uncertainty, "I just meant to help ease my anxiety some. I mean, now this fear of the_ unknown_ has become almost bigger than …" she stopped, horrified at what she had almost said. "Well, it has just become ridiculous if you must know, and I thought maybe the alcohol would help relax me enough so that I can enjoy it."

Her voice trailed off as she tried to gauge his reaction to her suggestion, but he had adopted his signature 'blank' expression, making it impossible for her to tell what he was thinking.

"I just know that if I can get over the initial ..." she paused, "... discomfort, than the rest of the experience would be more pleasant."

"Pleasant?" he asked incredulously, "You think it would be_ pleasant?_ Why in the bloody hell are you even bothering if that is the best you are hoping for?" he asked looking supremely insulted.

"I didn't mean to insult you, and I apologize if I have," she added hurriedly, "What we've done so far has been brilliant, I never knew it could be like that, which is why I want to try it this way. I'm just afraid I'll be so tense the first time that it won't be good for either of us."

He looked pole-axed, "You have never even …" he seemed to search for the right word, but she cut him off.

"_No!_ I have gone farther with you than with anyone else." She wasn't proud of the fact, but she decided that honesty was important if they planned to take the next step. "I always seem to repel men," she admitted self deprecatingly, "I think my intellect scared them off, and I'm not the sort for a one-off with some bloke I barely know, much less trust."

She hesitated and took a deep breath before speaking, hoping her absolute sincerity was clear, "I know this whole thing is beyond bizarre, I'm a twenty-eight year old virgin with four published books under my belt, but little to no experience when it comes to men. The longer I let my fear control me, the worse it will get. All I'm suggesting is that a few shots beforehand might be just what we need to get over this hurdle," she said, "Does that make sense?"

He didn't answer right away; he seemed to be having an internal debate, one that she obviously wasn't privy to. She waited patiently for him to finally speak.

Well … mostly patiently.

And then waited some more.

_Bloody hell, how long did it take to decide if he wanted to shag her or not?_

Okay, maybe she wasn't so patient.

"Oooookaaaay," he seemed to stretch the word out into five syllables; his hesitation obvious. "It just sort of feels like I would be taking advantage of you," he said quietly.

"But you_ won't_ be if I'm_ asking_ you to. It's not like you are doing it without my consent … trust me when I tell you, you have my whole-hearted consent," she finally added sheepishly, "Unless this whole thing is just more trouble than it's worth, we can just forget it if you want."

She held her breath, hoping he would say yes. She knew she was utterly pathetic, practically begging for him to ravish her on the one hand, yet on the other, absolutely terrified of the actual logistics of the act itself.

Quite the dichotomy.

She was a mess, and it would serve her right if he turned her down flat and walked out the door never to return, leaving her a lonely old maid with twenty cats, frizzy grey hair, and a house overrun by books. It would be the books that would eventually kill her, she was convinced of it. One day, after she hadn't been heard from in a week or so, they would come looking for her and find her buried under the very books she loved so much …

And que sad music …

She snorted in disgust as her inner whiny drama queen had a pity party, and almost missed his answer.

"I can't say I quite understand your fear, but I do care for you and I want very much to be with you, so I will do whatever will make you more comfortable. Tonight then?" He asked before flashing her a small smile and reaching across the table to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Her answering smile was so bright it seemed to take him by surprise. He leaned over and gave her a chaste, but tender kiss, before sitting back down to finish reading.

"Now woman, if you want me to have this finished sometime this week, leave me alone." His words, though seemingly harsh, were offset by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

She laughed softly and tried to turn her thoughts back to her own reading material, swallowing her nervousness down, and getting back to work. No sense dwelling on something that was still hours away.

So, what was she reading again? Her report from Rita … right.

Rita's most recent report contained some very incriminating material on a few high-ranking members of the ICW. She had no plans to use the information herself unless they gave her problems when she approached the ICW next month, but she would make sure the Deputy, Chairman Tung, had the information for a private takeover if he deemed it necessary.

She had her hands full enough as it was in her own backyard, she couldn't take on the world's problems as well.

Yet.

She would save that for next year.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: After the crackdown at the site (I lost one of my stories already), this has been tamed down a bit. I hope it still satisfies. **

Hermione tapped her fingernails nervously along the edge of the bath. She had less than an hour to finish getting ready for the 'big night' and she had hoped a good long soak would help calm her overwrought nerves, but it didn't seem to be helping one whit. This was what she wanted after all, so why couldn't she just relax and 'go with the flow' so to speak?

She finally admitted defeat and gingerly stepped out of the tub. She absent-mindedly began applying lotion to her still wet body, her mind elsewhere. She decided it would be pointless to do much with her hair save run a brush through it, as it was likely to just get mussed up again soon anyway; Severus seemed to have a fetish for running his hands through her hair, and since it felt heavenly when he did it, she honestly wasn't about to complain.

She bit her lip nervously as she contemplated her attire. She opened 'The' Drawer; the one that held ten years worth of intimate gifts from her mother, Luna and Ginny, all aimed at forcing her to explore her more feminine side. Knicker and bra sets designed to cover as little skin as possible while providing an alluring display for her girly bits; camisole's, bustiers, thongs, stockings, and, her personal favorite, a gorgeous silk peignoir set in a beautiful shade of blue. She had felt very sexy the one (and only) time she had ever worn it, unfortunately, her date had stood her up and she had returned the beautiful gown to its drawer as if_ it_ had been to blame for her date's sudden change of mind.

She found out later that Stephen, a fellow Charms student, had gotten cold feet after discovering from one of her so-called 'friends' that she was still a virgin. Evidently, he had no desire to be the one to introduce her to the world of interpersonal relations. He did, however, let her know that he hoped she would contact him after she had taken care of her 'little problem.' Needless to say, she had never spoken to him again after that.

She looked at the drawer full of silks and lace and wondered what kind of thing Severus might be interested in.

Was he the type that believed that 'less was more,' or would he prefer to unwrap her like a present?

Maybe she should have asked.

She temporarily abandoned her contemplation of her unmentionables, and poured herself a glass of Firewhiskey. She had only had the foul drink once in her life and she had never forgotten how it burned going down … and burned even more coming back up after far too many shots to count. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville had decided to surprise her after her graduation from university and planned a large party in her dorm room. She had not had Firewhiskey since.

She decided, however, that her current predicament necessitated she bend her self-imposed ban of the fiery brew as nothing else dulled the senses like a shot of Old Ogden's Finest, and she drank her shot quickly before she could change her mind.

_Bloody hell, that burned going down_, and then it hit her stomach and radiated heat to all her extremities. Her fingers tingled and she wiggled them to test that they still worked. She was a notorious 'lightweight' when it came to alcohol, and she knew there was a fine line between 'comfortably numb' and comatose. She opted to stick with just one shot for now and see how she felt before attempting another.

She approached The Drawer again as if it were the cause of all her problems. Why was it so blasted hard for her to show her feminine side? She was fairly certain she had one, all women did after all. _Didn't they?_

She pushed all images of Madam Hooch to the far reaches of her mind and concentrated on the colorful attire before closing her eyes and blindly reaching into the drawer. She would wear whatever she grabbed regardless of her own feelings on the matter.

She would let fate decide.

Her fingers closed around slippery silk and she opened her eyes to look at what she had in her hand, and groaned.

It was a green thong.

Bugger.

Sighing in acceptance (she was nothing if not determined) because she had left it to fate, so fate must be telling her Severus would appreciate a view of her bottom … and quite a view it would be if this small scrap of material had anything to say about it. She wiggled into them and almost had a panic attack when she saw how very little the bloody things covered (or more to the point didn't cover).

Trying to steady her breathing, she wondered if she should wear the matching bra or just throw on her cloak to cover herself up. In keeping with her original plan, however, she once more closed her eyes and grabbed the first thing she came to. An ivory lace camisole. She let out a sigh of relief when she realized what she had chosen. This would cover the rest of her upper half nicely. It looked almost sweet and demure … until she put it on.

She frowned heavily as she looked at herself in her floor length mirror. The tight top covered all the important bits of skin from her collarbone down to her navel, leaving only a sliver of alabaster showing above the green silk, but it was_ how_ it covered her that she was concerned about. The lace, which had looked lovely in her hands, stretched tightly over her bosom making it seem almost sheer, and leaving next to nothing to the imagination.

She planted herself on the edge of her bed, her head in her hands, as she started having second thoughts.

She didn't know if she could_ do_ this.

_Could_ she do this?

She lay back on the bed; staring at the ceiling and wondered why this was_ so hard_. Why couldn't she be_ normal?_ _Normal women didn't act like this, did they?_

Of course, most women didn't have her problem. Every single one of her friends had lost their virginity in their teens, she was the only hold out as far as she knew. But it wasn't like she was waiting for marriage, or even Mr. Right to come along, she had simply been too busy. Even assuming someone would have found her remotely attractive while at Hogwarts, she was too busy trying to prove that she belonged in the wizarding world, and then she had to concentrate on Voldemort's defeat, and then she had her studies, and then it was working on her books, and then … well, it seemed like her opportunities were few and far between after that.

And now here she was, attempting to face down her demons and completely unprepared to do it. Where was her famed Gryffindor bravery now?

In the loo along with the contents of her stomach, that's where.

She brushed her teeth three times and gargled four more, before she decided her mouth was clean enough. Thankfully, the effects of the whiskey hadn't completely worn off, but she was far from relaxed. Deciding it would be prudent to imbibe in one more shot before Severus arrived, she poured another. This one went down a lot easier and the burning seemed to dissipate into a pleasant warmth sooner than the last one had.

She_ could_ do this.

She could_ do_ this.

She heard the knock on the door and frantically noted that it was the agreed upon time.

_She couldn't do this!_

She looked down at her state of dress (or undress) and in a last-minute attempt to preserve her modesty, grabbed her flannel dressing gown and wrapped it around her before answering; her hands shaking and her voice weaker than she would have liked as she bade him 'enter.'

She attempted to appear as alluring as possible considering she was in her favorite old bathrobe, but was afraid, by the slightly confused look on his face, that she hadn't quite pulled it off. She plastered what she hoped was a welcoming smile on her face and spoke.

"Severus … welcome," she winced; she sounded like she was greeting first years into Hogwarts.

"Um … Hermione?" he approached her with caution, "Are you alright?"

"Yes! Yes! I am just … lovely. And you?" she asked nervously, knowing she sounded completely mental but unable to stop the impending train wreck that appeared to be gaining momentum the more she spoke.

He gazed at her searchingly before shaking his head slightly and approaching her. "Hermione, it's okay if you're not ready for this. There is no time requirement on us being intimate, I told you, I'm not going anywhere," he leaned closer and kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Why don't you meet me back downstairs for a cup of tea and we can discuss your plan some more."

She could feel her pulse racing as he turned to leave; part of her gave a great sigh of relief at getting out of doing something she was not sure she would ever be ready for, but the larger part of her was disgusted with her own cowardice. It was that part of her that she concentrated on, and digging deep inside for her famed Gryffindor bravery (very, very deep as it turned out) and throwing caution to the wind (along with her pride), she removed her robe, threw it on the chair, and called out for him just as he reached for the door handle.

"Severus."

He turned around to acknowledge her, but whatever he was going to say died in his throat as he saw what she was wearing.

**ooOoo**

"Uh …" he was at a complete loss for words. Seeing her wearing next to nothing hit him like a blow to the solar plexus.

Sweet Circe she was incredible!

It was like looking at own personal_ Playwizard_ centerfold, and his body responded like a prepubescent teenager in heat at the sight of her luscious curves displayed so provocatively. He swallowed heavily and forced himself to calm down before he embarrassed himself, but it was a close thing.

As soon as he walked in the door and saw her looking almost green with nerves, he knew he couldn't hold her to her promise, no matter how much he wanted to make love to her. He had never forced himself on an unwilling woman and he had no intention of starting tonight. As much as it was testing his control to wait … wait he would.

She was worth it.

He wanted her, and not just in his bed. He wanted her in his life, and he didn't want to do anything that would muck up his chances. For some reason that was completely incomprehensible to him, Hermione Granger was single and untouched; he wanted to make sure he rectified both of those situations as soon as possible. Just because the rest of the male population had failed to notice what a rare jewel she was, didn't mean he did as well.

But bloody hell, how was he supposed to stay an honorable gentleman when she was wearing …_ that!_

He closed his eyes and grimaced as he tried to suppress the desire to sweep her off her feet and ravish her until she didn't even remember her own name. He respected, and even somewhat understood, her fear of the unknown, but he was a man with only so much will power.

And she was testing every ounce of it.

**ooOoo**

_Oh no!_

She saw him close his eyes and felt her stomach drop. She knew she shouldn't have listened to Ginny when she assured Hermione she looked fine. She glanced down at her body and knew she should probably not have eaten that second biscuit this morning. She had never been one of_ those_ women that fretted over every calorie she consumed; her mother had given her decent genes and she did try to walk regularly to keep in shape, but now, faced with his apparent dislike of her body, she was forced to acknowledge that she could probably stand to lose at least a stone. Maybe he preferred slimmer women and the sight of her unclothed turned him off.

She could feel tears prickling in the corner of her eyes as she came to the disheartening realization that she did, in fact, appear to repel men. And for just a moment, she would have given all the money in her Gringotts account for Severus to find her beautiful and sexy, instead he seemed to be fighting with himself.

He was probably trying to find a nice way to let her down without hurting her feelings.

"It's alright Severus," she whispered, defeated. She turned around and reached for her robe and heard his quick intake of breath, realizing too late that her massive bottom was now on display as well. She swallowed back her tears and decided to make things easy for him.

"I won't hold you to your promise now that you've seen what I look like," her voice cracked. "I'm actually quite tired and I'm just going to go to bed if that's alright with … uummph," she didn't get any farther before she felt him grab her arm and spin her around, a look of complete incredulity on his face.

"Is that what you think? That I was …" he sputtered incoherently, "not …_ happy_ … with what I saw?" At her slow nod, he gave a bark of laughter, but stopped when he saw the hurt in her eyes. He pulled her gently into his arms and she gave a start of surprise at what she felt. He leaned closer and whispered into her ear, his voice huskier than she had ever heard it.

"Does this_ feel_ like I don't like what I see?" he asked rhetorically before continuing, "You obviously have_ no idea_ how incredibly, breathtakingly beautiful you are Hermione. Nor how alluringly sexy. I had to close to my eyes because I didn't want to throw you over my shoulder and lock you into my bedroom for the rest of the night … or year," he added softly, as if asking a question. "You make my mouth water and my blood boil with wanting you Hermione. What you_ need_ is for me to take my time and be gentle, but what my body desires is to bend you over and take you while I ogle that succulent bottom of yours."

Hermione felt her insides melt at his words, and the resultant pools of liquid heat proved too much for that tiny scrap of material and leaked onto her thighs. If she wasn't so turned on she would have been embarrassed beyond belief, but as it was, she saw Severus' eyes widen in surprise as the musky scent of her arousal reached his overly sensitive nose, and then turn an even deeper black with desire.

"I think, my dear," he whispered as he dropped light kisses along her neck sending shivers along her spine, "that it's time for you and I to get more comfortable."

She simply nodded and followed along mutely as he led her towards the large bed, her heart was racing too fast and her mind too sluggish for her to articulate anything sensible at that point.

Hermione decided to just put her trust (and her body) into Severus' capable hands, and hope for the best.

**ooOoo**

Hermione awoke the next morning to sunlight streaming across her prone body. She was splayed across the bed sideways and she wondered briefly how she had gotten there. As soon as she moved, however, and felt the ache between her very sore thighs, memories of the previous night came flooding back and it took every ounce of her self-restraint not to cackle gleefully like a hag.

But sweet Circe could that man make her feel things she hadn't even imagined were possible.

The first time had been slightly awkward and amazingly, less painful than she had imagined. He had been very sweet and gentle, but he had finished long before she reached her own end. Feeling slightly disappointed, but relieved to have her pesky 'virtue' finally dealt with once and for all, she had rolled over to prepare to go to sleep. He, however, had growled and pulled her back around claiming that he wasn't finished with her yet.

He had them proceeded to finish her three more times before they made love again, adding a fourth to her tally … not that she was keeping count. He had woken her twice more during the night as he mapped out every inch of her body with first his hands, and then his tongue, before bringing them together in shared ecstasy yet again.

She had no words for how amazing it had been.

How amazing he was.

But speaking of_ him_, where was he?

She craned her head around, but the massive bed was empty, and she suddenly wondered if this was what happened after you gave in to man. Did they leave you with no word or note to explain why they left. They got what they wanted … multiple times as it turned out, and that was it?

She sat up, shoving her mass of tangled curls aside angrily as she stormed towards the bathroom, her temper kicking in. She needed to shower and then she would deal with that snake for treating her so discourteously. She would show him that she was not a witch to be trifled with. She was not a garden variety trollop just looking for a quick shag. She was a talented and intelligent woman … looking for a shag.

Blast it all!

Would it have been too much to ask that he be there when she woke up? She winced as she took another step, and decided that a pain potion was also in order after her shower if she wanted to get any work done today.

Right after she threw Severus to the curb and rescinded his access to her house.

She heard the door open and whirled around, ready to snap at whoever had interrupted her rant, and was startled to see the smiling face of Severus holding a large breakfast tray that smelled enticingly appetizing. A large flush suffused her face at her enormous jump to incorrect conclusions just a few moments ago, and she smiled back sheepishly.

"You weren't supposed to be up yet," he said quietly when he noticed her expression and demeanor, then understanding seemed to dawn on his face, and he set the tray down and approached her, taking both of her limp hands into his own. "You thought I left, didn't you?"

He just shook his head and pulled her in for a gentle hug, "What do I have to do to make you realize that I am yours? Completely and absolutely yours."

She really had no response to his words because she was dealing with her own warring emotions of relief, gratitude, embarrassment, shame, and immense joy. He really meant it, and she had not trusted him. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and felt foolish once again for ever doubting him.

Instead of answering she took the easy way out and kissed him. Kissed him in a way that explained all that she was feeling but was too cowardly to say at that moment.

That she appreciated his thoughtfulness.

That he was amazing.

That she was sorry for doubting him.

That she wanted him the same way he wanted her.

For keeps.

His answering kiss told her he understood and forgave her.

Kisses soon led to caresses, which led to an even more intimate discourse.

Both were well pleased with what had_ not_ been said.

**ooOoo**

Severus woke first again, but this time decided to stay put until she was up. He never wanted to cause her even a moment of doubt about his intentions again. Earlier that morning, his only thought had been getting her a healing potion in case she suffered any aftereffects from their rather vigorous night of passion, and having breakfast in bed with her … which would hopefully lead to even more intimacies.

Unfortunately, he hadn't counted on her waking up and believing he had left her alone after the amazing night they had shared. How she could believe, for one moment, that he was even_ capable_ of leaving her after the absolute best night of his entire life, was completely beyond him, but believe it she did. One look at her face and he immediately knew where her thoughts had taken her, and he was insecure enough to admit that had the tables been turned, he would probably have reacted the same way.

Thankfully, he had added a warming charm to the breakfast tray so it would still be good when she was ready to eat, but the smell of the freshly ground Kona was tempting his taste buds more than he could handle. He poured himself a cup and drank it while he watched her sleep.

She truly was beyond beautiful, and yet she was completely unaware of her own appeal. It boggled the mind that this woman was so insecure in her femininity and allure to the male of the species and to him in particular. He was honored that she had chosen him to be the one to awaken her sexuality. She was an extremely passionate and loving woman, and he looked forward to many, many years spent exploring it (and her) in greater detail.

He would be around for as long as she allowed him to be.

He had made many, many mistakes in his past. There were things he_ should_ have done that he hadn't, things he_ could_ have done that he didn't, and things he_ had_ done that he oughtn't. But he would do everything in his power to make this woman feel loved, cherished and worshiped, and if she let him, he would make her his wife.

His wife.

A title he used to believe could only ever belong to one woman (despite the obvious problem of that woman being married to someone else). He shook his head at all the years wasted pining … obsessing, over a woman who was never his. He had long ago given up any hope that he might someday find a woman to marry … until now.

Hermione Granger, the know-it-all bookworm, had changed everything.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

But first they had to get her book released and handle the pureblood problem before they could make any life altering decisions. He wouldn't pressure her when she was already under immense pressure as it was, but as soon as all this was resolved he intended to propose.

In the meantime, he did not plan to leave her side, or if he had any say in it, her bed, anytime soon.


	13. Chapter 13

**Much thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

The meeting with Ragnok had not gone as planned, but it went better than she had hoped.

It had taken almost and hour to lay out her concerns about what was happening again within wizarding Britain, and another two discussing options and proposed solutions. Ragnok had been understandably hesitant to ally himself (and by extension, Gringotts) in 'wizard business,' but once she explained her proposed penalty plan and what it would mean to the bank, he became much more receptive.

The little 'favor' he owed was never mentioned, but it was understood she was calling in her marker all the same. All she needed were records of transactions, both incoming and outgoing for the people on the list she showed him. Since Gringotts kept meticulous records, Hermione knew it wasn't a matter of not having them, it was simply a matter of her obtaining copies of them.

Severus was brilliant at deciphering the nuances and meaning behind Ragnok's careful comments and gestures, and had been vital in securing a satisfactory arrangement between the two parties.

The first time Hermione had felt a small nudge in her mind she had nearly jumped out of her chair, but thankfully had realized it was Severus and not Ragnok attempting to infiltrate her psyche. Hermione had only basic Occlumency shields; strong enough to keep out the average wizard but absolutely no challenge at all to a skilled Legilimens like Severus. Thankfully, he didn't pry into her thoughts or memories, he simply offered his insight and suggestions on how best to proceed.

His assistance had been invaluable and she had been very appreciative, and had shown it (several times) once they returned to her house.

Hermione was still hesitant to initiate intimacies between she and Severus, but once begun had no problem letting go of her inhibitions and fully enjoying herself. Severus, thankfully, was always 'ready and willing' to partake in the more carnal aspects of their … relationship? Hermione wasn't sure how to describe what it was they had together. Amazing? Earth-shattering? Bloody brilliant? Yes to all, but it was also equal parts baffling, awkward and nerve-wracking as well.

The sex was beyond incredible, but Hermione could sense Severus' hesitation at times and wondered if he was growing bored with it already, or if, like her, he was ready to experiment a bit more. Unfortunately, she was still too afraid of embarrassing herself to broach the subject of trying something new (she had read _a lot_ of books as was eager to try some of the things in them), so her fantasies remained exactly that, just fantasies.

The other thing that was proving more difficult than either suspected, was that for so long both had been solitary by choice as well as circumstance, and while it was lovely having someone to share meals and engage in a myriad of intellectual discussions with she sometimes found it slightly disconcerting to always have another person in her space and sometimes found it harder to navigate some of the less obvious pitfalls of having a live-in lover.

Sharing a bathroom had been an adjustment for both, especially when it came to bodily functions and the like, and the first time she went in to use the toilet while he was taking a pee had nearly ended in tears.

She had simply not been thinking; too little sleep (not that she was complaining) and a full bladder had resulted in her semi-conscious stumble into the room. Severus, completely unused to having an audience when performing his daily ablutions, had been less than pleased with her invasion of his privacy. He was not averse to sharing a bath or shower, as both usually led to further intimacies, but anything else was considered intrusive and strictly forbidden.

Hermione could hardly blame him. Regardless of their growing intimacy, some things were best done without an audience, but thought his reaction to her mistake a bit overblown. Nevertheless, in the spirit of peaceful coexistence, she apologized and they agreed to use locks in the future.

The other issue was that Severus snored. Not the cute little snores she could smile about and dismiss, but the full on suck the paint off the walls snoring that woke her from the deep sleep of complete physical satiation. In self-defense, she had finally had to put up a silencing spell around him before she could get to sleep. Luckily she usually woke before him and could remove it, but she had yet to bring up the issue.

For the most part, they got along surprisingly well, but Hermione knew they were still at the tiptoeing around each other stage, and she couldn't help but worry that things couldn't possibly remain so. Neither had discussed their feelings again after their initial confessions, but she knew her feelings for him were growing and hoped it was the same with him.

She had always been attracted to his incredible intelligence; he was brilliant at potions, amazingly powerful and when it was not aimed at her, admired his dry, if sometimes caustic, sense of humor. But over the last weeks, she had come to appreciate his softer side; the way he played with her hair when they were reading together on the couch, the way he focused his complete and undivided attention on her when she was sharing ideas or working through a problem ... like nothing was more important at that exact moment than her. The way his eyes crinkled when he found something amusing, and even the way he got embarrassed if she caught him with his reading glasses, which in her opinion, made him look adorable and infinitely kissable.

Or the way she felt protected and cared for when he curled around her at night; her name the last thing on his lips before drifting off to sleep.

Someday soon she would dredge up enough courage to talk to him about her feelings, but in the meantime she had decided to just let things lie. Which was just as well considering the sheer amount of work that kept her from dwelling on it too often.

The past few weeks had been incredibly busy as she began the process of correlating, summarizing and simplifying all the data collected into an understandable and easy to read book ... being a politician didn't necessarily guarantee intelligence. Hermione had automatically fallen back into her old habit of writing for long stretches of time without a break. There were days nothing flowed, so on the days it did, she wrote (and wrote and wrote). She had never had to worry about her obsessiveness while writing before simply because there had never been anyone around to care if she missed sleep, drank too much coffee and ate far too little food, or missed a shower (or two).

Such was not the case any longer, and Severus was not as understanding of her routine.

He had accepted the task of working with Luna and Rita (albeit rather grudgingly) and the files on the 'persons of interest' (a term she adopted after overhearing Harry use it once; she thought it sounded very covert and spy-ish) became his domain. It didn't take him long to familiarize himself with the information and in some cases, even add his own bits, but she knew he found it far from challenging, so in his spare time he agreed to edit her book.

Harry and the gang back home on the other hand, were taking their duties to heart (after quite a few arguments over the cell phones she had purchased for just such a purpose). Hermione had to personally meet with Kingsley however, since he was the existing Minister, and after obtaining his oath to not act on anything until the right time, shared her findings, concerns and proposed solutions with him. It had taken him a week after he stormed out in disbelief before calming down enough to contact her for another meeting.

Things had gone much more smoothly the second time around.

Ron and Harry put their Auror skills to use by keeping constant surveillance on the pureblood faction thanks in part to George, who had embraced the opportunity to test out some of his new gadgets. His most impressive being miniature recording devices with a built-in pensieve to record both visual images and audio. Unfortunately, they could only record for twenty-four hours, so the devices had to be changed out daily.

Considering some of the incriminating evidence they had already collected thanks to the little buggers, no one complained about its limitations.

The girls: Susan, Angelina, and a very reluctant Ginny, had agreed to infiltrate the inner circle of society wives to suss out any gossip or veiled comments that might prove useful. For the most part the girls were carefully avoided, but invariably, after a few rounds of tea (with a healthy dose of brandy and a mild variation of Veritaserum added for 'flavor') things tended to loosen up and the uptight pureblood princesses' began to sing like canaries.

According to the reports Hermione had received, the wives were not a very happy lot. Between their husbands' many infidelities (that they made no effort to hide) and their frequent absences to meet with 'the boys,' the wives used their weekly 'teas' as an excuse to blow off steam. And as the alcohol flowed more freely, so to did the little tidbits Hermione gleefully added to the growing pile of transgressions against the arrogant pureblood faction currently in control.

Pureblood wives were treated like house elves in that they were seen as possessions to be controlled and called on only when needed, and like house elves, they overheard things they weren't supposed to and knew more about the comings and goings of their 'masters' than their husbands realized. But unlike elves, they were under no compulsion to punish themselves for revealing any of those secrets.

And based on some of the conversations she had listened to, the wives were not at all pleased with what had been happening lately. The women had been looking forward to things going back to normal after Voldemort's defeat, allowing them to take their rightful place in the upper-crust of society with their faithful husbands back by their sides.

Unfortunately, that had not happened. Power plays had begun almost as soon as the Dark Lord was dead and buried as many waited to see who would escape Ministry punishment and assume control. For unlike their brash and aggressive counterparts in Gryffindor, the Slytherins believed in the Darwinian Theory of Survival of the Fittest (although, had they known their behavior was defined by the discoveries of a muggle, they would have been suitably horrified).

One clear winner stood out. With his undeniable charm and charisma, his enormous wealth, his cold good looks, his crafty intellect and an ingrained belief in his own superiority; Lucius soon established himself as the new 'Dark Lord,' and began to gather his willing followers.

From what little the wives had surmised, the gatherings were still fairly small (less than two dozen), but the violence was starting to escalate and a few wives even nervously confessed to overhearing their significant other bragging about things they had done during one of "Malfoy's 'parties.'

Hermione was equal parts disgusted and pleased with the news that the 'boys' were back to their old tricks. It sickened her to think about the poor muggle women (or men, if a few of the wives were to be believed about their particular husbands' proclivities) being tortured, raped and in some cases, even killed just to satisfy the sadistic pleasure of a bunch of self-indulgent pricks with delusions of grandeur.

On the other hand, they were providing their own rope to hang themselves once they were finally caught. Which needed to happen soon.

Of that they were all in agreement.

Harry and Ron still had not discovered the site where the secret meetings were being held, but had it narrowed down to a general area and were slowly closing in.

Kingsley meanwhile, had been given the names of all suspected conspirators and had been subtly doing his own investigation behind the scenes, gathering his loyal supporters closer around him and making his own lists of possible replacements once positions were vacated (forcibly or otherwise).

Now all she had left to do was finish her book and deal with the ICW before her end of the plan was complete.

Even Minerva had been brought into the loop after Neville had made a compelling case for her inclusion. As acting head of the (mostly defunct) Order of the Phoenix and Headmistress of Hogwarts, her word carried a lot of weight and her experiences from two wars made her insight both pertinent and appreciated.

So with Minerva and Neville in Hogwarts, Kingsley and Arthur in the Ministry, Harry, Ron and George assigned to the 'boys,' Susan, Angelina and Ginny working the disgruntled wives, Luna and Rita doing what they do best and she and Severus trying to tie it all together … their band of rebels was complete.

All in all, things were looking pretty good in Hermione's world.

oOoOoOo

Severus threw down the latest report from Rita; that woman was a shark, and while he personally couldn't stand the hag, there was no denying she had a knack for uncovering even the smallest secret, and rubbed his tired eyes. What he needed was a few hours sleep, but what he _wanted_ was some time with Hermione.

Unfortunately, Hermione was 'in the zone' and didn't want to be disturbed.

Severus couldn't recall ever being as happy as he had been the last few weeks. Despite a few rough patches (like being walked in on in the loo), things with Hermione had progressed surprisingly well. She was well read, articulate and he thoroughly enjoyed her dry but quirky sense of humor she assured him few understood much less appreciated. That she was beautiful, incredibly sexy and drove him mad in bed was just icing on the cake.

If he sometimes wished they could expand their sexual repertoire to include more than two positions, well, that was just something that (hopefully) would come in time once she felt more comfortable with him. Overall he was extremely content and his feelings for her continued to deepen the more time he spent in her company.

It was just the little things that irritated him occasionally, but he didn't want to bring them up for fear of losing the best thing that had ever happened to him. Having never been in a serious relationship before, he was hesitant to rock the figurative boat too soon.

The bathroom incident had thankfully been dealt with relatively painlessly after he had apologized for yelling at her … but honestly, a man's morning piss was not something he wanted to share with others, and his embarrassment at being caught writing Hermione's name in the water had in no way influenced his churlish outburst. That he was a love-sick fool was obvious, but she didn't have to know to what extent he adored her.

Writing one's lovers name in piss, while heartfelt and sincere (and admittedly, a touch juvenile), was hardly the sort of romantic gesture that made women swoon.

He stood and stretched his stiff limbs, carefully returning the files back to their heavily warded drawer before heading to Hermione's office; his body unconsciously tensing in preparation for battle.

He had learned the hard way that when Hermione started writing she did not like to be bothered … not for tea, nor food, not even to sleep or shower until she was ready. The one time he had helpfully offered to run a bath for her so she could freshen up (after more than forty hours spent hunched over her parchment she had gotten a bit ripe), she had nearly taken his head off.

She had, of course, apologized profusely once he had stiffly informed her that 'since his attentions were obviously unneeded and unwanted, he would be going to bed … alone.' Her apology (and the subsequent making up) had been heartfelt and lengthy.

She had made an effort after that to take regular breaks, but he was still hesitant to interrupt her work. He had never met such a stubborn and tenacious witch, and while he respected her tremendously, those very same qualities could be a source of extreme exasperation as well.

But dammit, he worried about her. Shutting herself in her office all day, subsisting only on coffee and whatever he forced her to eat was not good for her health. He understood obsession (hell, he had practically been the walking definition for almost twenty years), but none of this was worth it if she made herself ill.

She had asked him to edit the pages she had already written because her longtime editor was good friends with the Malfoys, and he had been honored and pleased to be considered as an alternative. Her writing was exceptional (as he knew it would be), but the more he read, the more he knew she was going to seriously ruffle a lot of feathers with her latest book. It would either instigate radical change or be laughed off the shelves.

What she was proposing was extreme; completely brilliant, but extreme. She was challenging decades … centuries, of tradition, and even though he knew that it was beyond time the wizarding world caught up with its muggle counterparts, he was afraid it might not be as easy to carry out all in one go. Even people who were anxious and ready for change would be nervous at the drastic nature of her proposals.

He had cautiously raised his concerns with her the previous evening and she had merely shrugged and said … _'if even a few of the ideas are implemented it can only help our current situation. I'm presenting the perfect situation … the utopian model, if you will, but even _I_ know that the ideal would be impossible to achieve overnight. However, with the right people in place and my book as a guideline, slow change could be just as effective.'_

He could see her point, and as a Slytherin, appreciate her tactics. Introduce the changes slowly and institute the new laws one or two at a time and most of the population would never even catch on to what was happening. Ten years down the line no one will even question why the laws favor equal treatment between all magical creatures and wizards regardless of blood status. He only hoped it worked.

Right now all they could do was wait until all the pieces were in place to execute their plan.

He knocked softly on the door before opening it. "Hermione?"

Hermione whirled around in surprise at his entrance, her hands held behind her back hiding what appeared to be a small book. Her face suffused with color and her breathing slightly elevated. She looked … embarrassed? Excited?

_What had she been looking at that had garnered that reaction? _

Severus felt his interest peak at her uncommon display. There was nothing he had read so far in her book that would cause this response and he raised an eyebrow in query.

"Hermione?"

"Severus," she said breathlessly, causing the other eyebrow to join the first. "I … I was just … just working. You startled me," she raised a slightly shaky hand to push back the hair that had come undone from the loose knot on her head.

"Indeed," he drawled, stepping closer.

She instinctively stepped away, but when her back hit the bookshelf she had nowhere else to go. He covered the distance between them quickly, searching her face for a clue to her current distress. He had known her long enough now to recognize that something was wrong.

He placed his hands on her shoulders which were tense from being twisted behind her back, and spoke softly, "What is it? What has you so spooked?" he asked, concern and more than a little curiosity coloring his voice.

"Nothing," her attempt at nonchalance failed miserably as her breathing picked up at his proximity. "I just … as I said," she tried again after clearing her throat, "I was just working."

He gazed deeply into her eyes and knew she was hiding something, but he didn't want to frighten her or break her trust by prying into her mind for the truth. He slowly ran his hands down her arms, hesitating when he reached the juncture of her elbow. "What are you hiding, Hermione?" he asked softly, his hands slowly moving behind her back to continue his caress along her forearms.

"Nothing," she blushed even deeper and his mind suddenly clicked on something that had caught his attention when he first entered the room. _Was she aroused?_ Her pupils were slightly dilated and now that he was closer, he could smell just the faintest hint of musk scenting the air. His body reacted automatically to her smell and he felt himself harden in response.

Like a siren's call, her body's excitement triggered his own and he leaned closer, his lips only centimeters from her own. He could feel her hot breath as she panted slightly. Whether in reaction to his proximity or because of what she was concealing behind her back, he didn't know. But he intended to find out.

"Don't you trust me?" he whispered along the sensitive skin of her throat just below her ear, and she gave a low moan in response. He stifled his smile of pleasure; he was still amazed at how readily her body reacted to his slightest touch. She may have waited twenty-eight years to finally explore her sexuality, but she had more than made up for lost time.

And like a fine wine left to ferment and mature to perfection, he was savoring ever drop.

"Yes," came her breathy response as her pelvis rubbed against him, anxiously seeking out contact to assuage the heat that was building between them. He forced himself not to react and swallowed back a groan at the feel of her delicious heat. He could not allow her to distract him … yet.

His hands continued along the silky skin of her arm until they reached her hands tightly clutching the book she was hiding. He felt her breath catch before her heart started to race and he knew she didn't want him to see what she was holding, which only heightened his curiosity.

"Don't you trust me?" he asked again, his hands clamped around the book but not taking it from her; his eyes delving into hers waiting for her answer.

"No. I mean, yes I do, but …" she tore her eyes away and he felt the sting at her hesitation. He dropped her hands and stepped away from her, his posture stiff once more. He had thought they had reached an understanding, He had thought they could share anything. Evidently he had been mistaken.

_Had he been deluding himself into believing she cared for and trusted him as he did her?_

"Forgive the intrusion," he schooled his face into an impassive mask, unwilling to let her see how much her words and actions had hurt him. "I'll leave you to your work then."

He turned and made his way to the door, questions and old fears looming in his mind.

_If after everything they had shared she still didn't trust him, would she ever? Was he just holding on to a dream that would fade away once reality set in? Now that he had introduced her to the pleasures of the body, had she finally realized she could do so much better than a dried up old Potion's Master?_

He was buried so deep into his thoughts that he didn't hear her call him back until he had reached for the knob intent on getting as far away from her as possible so he could go lick his wounds in private.

"Severus, please!" she grabbed his arm, and he finally turned around. Her eyes were frantic and glazed with tears and … fear?

oOoOoOo

Hermione felt her heart racing and knew she had made a huge error as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She hadn't meant she didn't trust him … she did, she trusted him more than anyone else. It was that she didn't want him to see what she had been reading.

She was mortified to be caught red-handed and had reacted instinctively.

"Severus, please," she said again, her voice betraying her anguish. "Of course I trust you. You are the _only_ person I trust. When I said 'no' I was referring to you not seeing the book," she hesitated and looked down unable to meet his eyes.

"I was embarrassed," she whispered before slowly extending her hand and showing him what she had been reading before he came in and caught her redhanded.

He hesitated before taking it, and glanced at the title in surprise; _Erotic Adventures for the Passionate Couple._

He quickly looked up, his eyes full of questions.

It was time. Time to buck up and be honest. Time to put on her big girl panties (figuratively at least, she doubted he'd be turned on by the actual ones).

"I was … I mean," she stumbled over her words, then closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried again.

"I was reading this and got excited thinking about all the things I'd like to try with you but have been too embarrassed to bring up. When you came in and caught me …" she trailed off.

He looked at her intently before paging through the book, his eyebrows raised at some of the more explicit drawings. He continued to leaf through the pages until he came to a dog-eared section that had obviously been referred to often. It was one of her favorites and she noticed his increased breathing as he examined the couple on the bed.

She held her own breath, waiting for his response, afraid to raise her hopes in case his physical response was not actually interest but disgust.

"Is this," he swallowed thickly and she relaxed slightly. She recognized the arousal in his voice and she discretely tried to look down to see if she could detect any more _obvious_ evidence of his interest (because when Severus was _interested_, it was _very_ obvious). "Is this something you'd like to try?"

_Damn, the book was blocking her view. But unless she was mistaken, that gleam in his eyes was definite arousal._

Seeing that look emboldened her and she stepped closer, "Yes. As long as it's _only_ with you," she said softly, her hand finding the very prominent evidence she had searched for; his groan caused an answering rush of heat in her own body and she stroked him with slightly more pressure.

"I'd ask if you're _up_ for it, but I can already tell you are," she said with more confidence now that she knew he reciprocated her feelings. "Might I suggest we adjourn to my bedroom to finish this … discussion?"

With the book in one hand, he snaked the other around her waist and pulled her up tightly against his chest, leaning down to place a blistering kiss on her lips.

"I thought you'd never ask."


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione hummed softly as she finished making the changes to her last chapter before adding the 'Author's Note' and finally, signing her name with a flourish.

It was done.

There would be no rush to get it to a publisher, no final editing or arguments over content or layout ... and no worry if it would be well received. She already knew the answer to that.

There would be just enough copies for every member of the Ministry, the Hogwarts staff, the Wizangamot, and one each for her friends and a few extra ... although she highly doubted there would much interest in her newest literary creation. It was too contradictory.

Both the _Quibbler_ and the _Daily Prophet_ had their articles written to coincide with the release of her book and the delivery of her ... blackmail material (she winced every time she used that word, but it was the most fitting). Everything was scheduled to happen at the same time so no one had any warning. The plan wouldn't work unless the wizards and witches in question were caught with their pants down (both literally and figuratively).

Kingsley was quietly pushing through the bill mandating harsher penalties for those proven to have participated in subversive groups or knowingly participated in and/or supported, financially or otherwise, said groups. So far there had been no problems, but to obtain the quorum needed before the bill could be passed, he still had to rally a few more supporters to the cause.

After his initial shock and disbelief had worn off, Kingsley had embraced her proposed changes (with a few addendums and provisos ... _bloody nitpicking politicians_) and was pushing hard for her to come work with him. Hermione was violently opposed to working full-time for the government, but grudgingly admitted she would consider a position as a short-term solution until he found someone else. She had seen first hand how bureaucracy worked and she truly wanted no part of it.

In the end, it came down to 'put up or shut up.' She didn't have to like it, but understood the necessity.

Minerva had also been trying to woo Severus and Hermione back to Hogwarts. Severus for either Potions or D.A.D.A and Hermione for Charms (Flitwick wanted to retire) or History of Magic (Binns _needed_ to be retired).

Severus, however, was adamant about never teaching again. He had found his niche and was happy, and Hermione was pretty comfortable with researching and writing books and had no wish to bury herself in obscurity at Hogwarts. She would rather bury herself in obscurity with Severus and her ten acres in Canada.

Hogwarts held many cherished memories for Hermione, but they were so intermixed with some of her worst that it made it hard to separate the two, and to this day she still had a hard time even walking through the front doors. She knew in time that may change, but for now she was in no hurry to teach there.

As idyllic (or nearly anyway) as her time with Severus had been, the real world would not be kept at bay forever. After putting it off as long as he could, Severus was forced back to London to handle a few business issues that needed his presence. And even though she missed him terribly, she took advantage of his absence to finish the surprise she had planned for his return.

In the hope that Severus might someday consider her home his home, she knew a few alterations would have to be made to accommodate him. Namely, a potion's lab and a greenhouse needed to be added to the layout. Instead of converting one of the existing areas of her house, she opted to have both built in her massive back garden.

Canadian winters were too harsh to sustain many of the magical herbs and other potion's ingredients without a protective environment, so a magical greenhouse was a must, and Neville was instrumental in helping her fill it. The potion's lab was connected to the house via a walkway due to the frequency of inclement weather, and was as state of the art as money could buy. Getting builders to finish it in three days had been atrociously expensive, but the result had been well worth every galleon.

She had planned it as a surprise (and a bit of a bribe, truth be told), so that he might consider moving in with her after evrything was resolved (or at least their part was done), but even if he declined, she could always use it for her own research; she missed working in the lab and getting her hands 'dirty' so to speak. And while she understood he had a business he needed to oversee and a life he probably needed to get back to once his hiatus was over, she couldn't help but wish he chose to relocate.

Now that she'd finally found the love of her life, she wasn't keen on letting him go.

While things in the bedroom had gotten much more ... interesting, after their confrontation in her office two weeks ago, they had yet to formalize or even define their relationship. She knew, without a doubt, that she was in love with him, but hadn't worked up the courage to tell him so. She was sure he cared for her as well, but the 'L' word had never once been mentioned and she couldn't help but wonder if (despite his words to the contrary) he didn't still hold a small torch for Lily (the _other_ 'L' word).

Severus had made it very clear (loudly and often) that he found her incredibly attractive and was very satisfied with her sexually, and for reasons she still couldn't fathom, he seemed fascinated with her body (extra weight and all). They got along very well, had the most evocative discussions and even intellectual arguments with him were stimulating … but she needed to know where they were going.

Yes. The dreaded five words: where is this relationship going?

Luckily, she had yet to voice her concerns, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she blurted it out accidentally after sex, or before sex, or even (Merlin help her) during sex, because that man could make her lose all reason when he was touching her.

_And she could hardly be held responsible for words uttered under duress, right?_

Except …

Once uttered, there would be no going back. Just like her relationship with Ron. She had suspected him of cheating and had simply brushed it under the rug, afraid to investigate the empirical evidence too closely; knowing if she did she would find absolute proof of his infidelity. That, coupled with his continual pressure to consummate their relationship, had the opposite effect and pushed her even farther away.

At the time, Hermione never understood why she withheld sex from Ron, but now she knew that her heart hadn't been engaged with him. That was something she needed in order to feel secure enough to get naked … both figuratively and literally. Looking back, she knew she shouldn't blame him for wanting to satisfy his needs elsewhere, but an irrational part of her still did. They had since resolved most of their issues well enough to sustain a relatively easy friendship, but they would never be close again.

She accepted that she was equally to blame for their relationship falling apart. Aside from the lack of intimacy, she had a tendency to bury herself in her work to the exclusion of all else. She knew Severus found her habit of shutting out the world while she wrote bothersome as well, but at least with him in stemmed from concern for her well-being. With Ron it had been just another example of their incompatibility; he needed to be mothered and she refused to put his desires above her own.

Looking back, her perceived selfishness and his infidelity were simply symptoms of the larger issue ... they were not in love with each other and no amount of compromise could change that fact.

She knew her feelings were different with Severus, because if she ever got even a whiff that he was sniffing around another woman ... she would hex first and ask questions later ... much, much later.

Hermione shoved aside her introspection and stretched. She was waiting to hear back from Harry and Severus who had teamed up to try to pin down where the new Death Eater (or whatever they were calling themselves these days) gatherings were being held.

A team of Aurors was on standby to assist, but without the meeting place (and evidence more concrete than hearsay, recorded or otherwise) they were at a standstill.

Hermione had finally met with Tung Sheng and passed over the information she had on existing members of the ICW, and her fears over their affiliations and political leanings. He had surprised her by admitting to having similar files of his own. She had been correct; he _was_ planning his own coup, and she spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying a delicious lunch with a kindred spirit. After promising to send along autographed copies of her books, including the newest one, she had left with his assurances that the ICW would not interfere in her plan, but would be standing by if needed.

It wasn't until she was sitting down to a late dinner later that evening, that a package arrived from Rita. She had been very secretive the past week about what she was up to, but Hermione knew better than to try to pin the cagey witch down. She had signed on to work with them, but she was still, first and foremost, an investigative reporter (even if the majority of what she wrote was pure, unadulterated crap that was better suited to the Op-Ed section). There was no question that she had a knack for getting the juicy dirt on everyone.

Of course, the ability to turn into a beetle at will might have had something to do with her success.

The cover letter was pretty cryptic and said simply _'Got these, but when I went back they were gone.'_

It wasn't until Hermione turned the page and saw the glossy photographs that she understood what that meant, and her stomach clenched in horror at the scenes depicted in the photos.

Rita had somehow found the location of the meetings, or at least 'a' location, as the building they were in looked pretty dodgy and she just couldn't see Lucius and his pureblood cronies spending an inordinate amount of time in a place that filthy. But as far as evidence went, it was unequivocal.

There were two dozen photographs, each depicting a different pair of men defiling, torturing and beating young girls and boys, none who looked over sixteen.

Hermione pushed back from the table and ran to the toilet, her dinner refusing to stay in her stomach after viewing those revolting photos. Once she was steady enough to stand, she washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth to get rid of the sour taste in her mouth, but nothing could alleviate the sick feeling in her gut.

They were monsters and needed to be stopped.

She made two copies of each print before shoving the pictures back into the envelope. She had mixed feelings about Rita's information. That they now had indisputable evidence was good, great even, but at what cost? Rita had taken the pictures, but not told anyone where she was. She had obviously gone back later and found them gone, but if she had only shared her knowledge while it was happening, they would be behind bars now, not still free to commit such heinous acts.

She understood Rita's primary goal was to exact revenge against Lucius, but there were bigger issues at play than simple revenge.

Hermione sighed heavily and wished Severus were there. He always seemed to have a clearer perspective on these things than she did. She tended to think with her emotions when a cooler head was needed. She knew she couldn't really blame Rita, they were lucky she had even agreed to work with them at all, but she still needed to get the location to Harry so he and Ron could check it out.

Sending off a quick note thanking Rita and asking her to share what she discovered with Harry, she locked the originals and the two copies in her warded safe. One would got to Kingsley, one to the ICW and a select few would even go to the paper to go with the story being printed.

Two hours later Hermione was still tossing and turning in bed; images of the helpless muggles haunting her and making it impossible to sleep. It didn't help that she was missing Severus more than ever.

She had known that Voldemort and his band of merry men killed muggles for sport, but _knowing_ it had happened and _seeing it_ with one's own eyes was completely different, and she wasn't sure if those images would ever be erased from her mind.

In desperation, she finally gave in and took a full dose of Dreamless Sleep. If she was going to bring down these men, she needed sleep so she could think properly. As the potion started to take effect, her last thought before succumbing to the blissful darkness, was of Severus.

She couldn't have stopped the tears that streamed endlessly down her face even if she had been aware they were there.

oOoOoOo

Severus signed his name on the last invoice and put it with the others his assistant would process the following day, and it was with more than a little relief when he finally stood and stretched his cramped muscles.

Four days he had been away from Hermione and he felt the same ache every time he thought of her.

He missed her.

Unbearably.

The fact that he never wanted to ever feel this way again mattered little. He did and there was nothing to be done about it except finish what he had come to do and get back to her as soon as possible. That his feelings for Lily had never even approached the intensity of what he felt for Hermione no longer made him feel guilty, all it did was highlight that what he felt for Lily Evans had been nothing more than a school boy crush turned obsession.

Severus liked his solitary life, and while women were a very enjoyable distraction, he had never imagined wanting to spend every single day with one … much less the _same_ one. But somehow Hermione had wormed her way into the deepest recesses of his heart and he wanted nothing more than to make her his in every way possible.

Mind, body, heart and soul.

He wanted to own her like she owned him. He wanted her to wear his ring and watch her bloom with his child growing inside her ... because apparently, he was a possessive sop.

He opened the small black box he had purchased two days ago. The platinum band was woven into a three-ring circular design and sported a three carat emerald cut sapphire set sideways and surrounded by a diamond halo. The ring was unique and he had known immediately he wanted it for Hermione. The cost had made him hesitate, but only briefly. It would look beautiful on her, and she was worth every knut. Now he only had to dredge up the courage to ask her.

He finished straightening his desk; he had no plans to return for at least another few weeks. He made his way to the bedroom after a quick glance at the clock. He was meeting Potter and Weasley at ten, and he wanted a quick shower and something to eat beforehand.

He no longer hated the boy … man, who had arrived at Hogwarts like a beacon highlighting his greatest pain and subsequent loss, and in all fairness, Harry had never been as bad as he believed him to be. But there was simply too much history for either to ever be close or even friends.

He no longer hated him, but neither did he want to pop round to the pub for a weekly pint with the man.

Tonight they were scouting out three different areas of heavily concentrated magic in the hopes one would be what they were looking for. If not, Harry would just have to continue without him because he had a portkey to catch in the morning and he was not going to miss it.

Four days and it felt like a month since he had last seen her or held her. Four days since he had kissed her or made love to her.

_Sweet Merlin, he had become such a sap since he had starting seeing Hermione._

But as he washed away the stress of the day under the hot spray, he found he didn't care. A sap he may be, but he was also something else.

For the very first time in his life, he was happy.

oOoOoOo

Hermione thought she was dreaming when she felt strong hands sliding along her skin and teasing her nipples awake. Her body arched into the sensation before her mind recognized that it was real.

And that could only mean …

"You're back!" she cried out eagerly as she engulfed him in a tight hug before quickly pulling back just as he was leaning forward to kiss her. She jumped out of bed, completely mindless of her state of undress, and yelled back at him. "Hold that thought," before rushing to the bathroom. Dreamless sleep was wonderful, but it left a very bad taste in the mouth and after four days apart, she planned to use her mouth on him.

Everywhere.

In only two minutes she was back in his arms, thankful that he had taken the time to remove his own clothes before joining her. She kissed him as if her life depended on it; she had so many pent-up emotions after their days apart.

"I missed you," she panted a few minutes later after reluctantly dragging her mouths from his. "Don't go away for that long again, okay?"

His chuckle told her he was pleased with her enthusiastic greeting, but his eyes were serious and she automatically started to panic.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pulling away from him, "What is it?"

He sighed and sat up, his hands reaching up to frame her face as he looked deeply into her worried eyes; his lips curved into a soft smile. "Why is it you always assume the worst?"

_Experience_, she wanted to say, but held her tongue. Experience had taught her to expect the worst when it came to men.

"I missed you terribly while I was away, but it gave me some time to think, and I've come to some realizations," he leaned in and kissed away the crinkle between her eyebrows. "You're doing it again," he said with a hint of humor.

"Doing what exactly?" she knew she sounded curt, but the fear she felt at his words could not be denied. _Was this it? Were they going to have one last shag before ending things? _She unconsciously steeled herself for whatever it was he was going to say.

She could have sworn he chuckled.

_Was he laughing at her?_

The bastard.

"Hermione," he grabbed the hands that were clenched tightly at her side and lifted them to his lips for a kiss. "Please let me finish before you jump to the conclusion that I'm about to tell you something horrible."

She took a deep breath and nodded, afraid to speak for fear of how her voice would sound.

"As I said, the time away allowed me to do a lot of thinking and I realized that I've never told you how I really feel, nor have we ever talked about what we have here or where we want it to go," he paused, his eyes roaming her face for signs that she was truly listening.

"The thing is Hermione. I have only loved one woman in my life, and …" his words were cut off by a sharp knock on her bedroom door.

Hermione jumped to her feet and grabbed for her dressing gown, hiding her face so he couldn't see the tears that filled her eyes. She was sure she knew what he had been about to say and she was also fairly certain she didn't want to hear about his great love for Lily friggen Potter. Nothing he added after that last sentence could be good for her.

She opened the door to find Mindy standing there looking miffed (as miffed as an elf with huge eyes and a large bulbous nose could look).

"Miss, there is a man calling himself Harry Potter standing outside the wards and yelling for you. He seems very insistent."

_Harry? Here?_

Hermione threw a quick glance back at Severus who looked angry at the interruption but was putting his clothes on all the same, before making her way out front to talk to Harry. He looked harried and anxious and Hermione was startled when he grabbed her in a huge hug that nearly lifted her off her feet.

"Merlin Hermione, it's good to see you," he said affectionately, "Are these tears for me? It's nice to know you miss me too," he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

Hermione didn't correct his assumption that the tears were for him, and tried to swallow back her heartache to give him what she hoped was a genuine smile. The last thing she needed was Harry getting in the middle of her situation with Severus.

"What are you …" she started to ask before Harry's next words stopped her cold.

"We found them."

**A/N: Things are coming to a close. I have just one more chapter and an epilogue left. They will be posted after a final edit. This story could be another twenty chapters, but since it was originally only supposed to be five or six, I've already drawn it out far enough.**

**Thanks to all my loyal reviewers. Your praise and support have meant a lot.**


	15. Chapter 15

"You found _them_ them?" she asked in surprise.

"Yeah, _them, _the bastards calling themselves the New World Order. What an original name, huh?" Harry scoffed, then noticed her impatient look and cleared his throat, "Right. Well, after Snape left last night, we were planning to call it a night until Rita showed up and dragged us off with her to where they were holding a revel," he explained quickly, looking up in surprise when Severus walked out to join them.

"Snape … er, Severus?" Harry looked back and forth between he and Hermione. "What are you doing here?" Hermione knew Harry still struggled with his feelings about Severus. He respected the man for his part in the war, but still had a hard time relaxing enough to use his first name.

"Never mind that Harry, finish your story," she was in no mood to discuss her personal life (or soon lack thereof) with Harry. She loved him, but Harry could still act like an overbearing little brother at times.

"Oh, okay," he looked conflicted, but after another pointed glare from Hermione, he continued.

_Just like Pavlov's dog_, she thought with a slight smirk. Her glares had been a surefire way to condition the boys during their time at Hogwarts and apparently nothing had changed. Of course, Ginny was probably more responsible for his reaction today than any remembrances of her ire from ten years ago.

Ginny ruled that man with an iron fist.

"Rita told us how she had been following Archebold Tanner for the past week hoping to find out where the meetings were held. Last night he received a note telling him 'the dragon had risen.' She had no idea what it meant, but as he seemed excited by the news, she decided to ride along on his cloak. After three stops to throw off a trail, they arrived at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of London heavily warded with anti-muggle spells. Once she realized where they were, she ducked out and came to get me."

Hermione felt a bit guilty for her earlier less than generous thoughts about Rita's motivation and loyalty. She would make sure the witch knew how much they appreciated everything she'd done to help.

His smile faltered somewhat. "By the time we rounded up a team of Aurors for back-up they were already well into the … festivities," he blanched slightly, but continued telling his story. "We were able to arrest everyone, but were too late to save three of the ten muggles they were torturing. The others were in pretty bad shape and were taken directly to St. Mungos."

He ran an agitated hand through his hair and she noticed for the first time how tired he looked.

"They'll treat and Obliviate them before taking them home. No one should have to live with the memory of what was done to them," he finished sadly. "I only wish I didn't have to live with it either."

She stepped forward and hugged him tightly, "But you caught them red-handed, Harry. They won't be able to escape justice this time," she tried to sound pleased but she was just as upset by the deaths as he was. "What did Kingsley say?"

Harry shrugged, "He's trying to keep things quiet, but Rita is pretty pleased with the huge smear campaign she has planned for Lucius. Tomorrow's _Prophet_ will be pretty brutal."

"I guess that means its time to put the rest of our plan into action," she said, her mind already filled with what needed to happen to push up their time line. It could be done, but she would need as much help as possible.

"Thanks for coming and telling me. Now let's get you something to eat and a room you can sleep for a few hours. You look wiped." Hermione grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, "MINDY!" she called out, then smiled when the elf appeared seconds later. "Can you please prepare a large breakfast for the group. We have a lot of work to finish and only a few hours to do it." Hermione turned to look at Severus for the first time since being interrupted in her room.

The sharp pain in her heart told her she wasn't ready to 'have the talk' yet.

She wasn't sure if she would ever be.

"Severus, we need to get those files ready to be delivered and copies made of my book. Can you set up a work station in the living room while I get dressed, please?" She didn't give him time to answer before turning away and almost running for the stairs.

"Hermione, can I have a quick word?" he asked from behind her.

She swallowed and plastered a smile on her face. "Can it wait? There's so much to be done and I don't want to do it in the buff," her attempt at humor fell flat along with her laugh. He gave her a searching look but reluctantly nodded.

"Very well." He didn't look very convinced or even remotely happy about it.

She breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she was in her bedroom, her body sagging back against the door as she tried to focus on the task at hand and not the impending discussion with the man she loved. There would be time enough for that later.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about those cats.

oOoOoOo

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose to stave of the headache he could feel starting behind his eyes. Something was wrong with Hermione and he didn't know what it was. Well, he had a pretty good idea what it was … she thought he was ending things with her. He could see it in her eyes every time she looked his way.

They had been hard at work for seven hours; Hermione, five of her assistants, himself and, as of thirty minutes ago, Harry Potter. The few hours sleep must have done some good because he looked a little less haggard and weary. Although after what he had seen the night before, he doubted the horrid images would go away even in sleep … they never had for him.

They were almost finished making copies and now only needed to haul everything back to London. It would be easier to send the packages locally than trying to find enough birds to cross the ocean. The portkeys would be leaving in thirty minutes and he had yet to get a second alone with Hermione.

It was bad enough that Harry kept shooting curious glances between the two of them (Gryffindors always were an extremely curious lot, much to their detriment) but to see the look of defeat in Hermione's eyes was almost killing him.

Why did she always assume the worst where he was concerned? What had he ever done to make her believe he was ending things?

He struggled to remember his exact words from that morning that could have given her any indication he was less than committed to her, then it hit him, '_I have only loved one woman in my life.' _

Could she possibly think he meant Lily?

Severus knew he was right when she once again looked away from him, refusing to meet his eyes; the eyes he willed her to look deeper into so she could see his sincerity and the truth of his feelings. Instead he watched as she started packing up the finished books; her back to him. He was berating himself for not telling her he loved her before leaving for London, but he had been too nervous. If he had been able to 'man-up' as it were, she wouldn't be doubting his feelings now.

_Bloody buggering hell! How was it possible to finally find the love of his life and yet things _still_ kept getting screwed up? _

Unfortunately, there didn't seem to be time for them to clear the air until this was over. Everything had been set in motion and now all he could do was go along with it and hope for a minute alone to talk to her before the situation got even more convoluted.

He would not lose her because of something said or left unsaid. She was far too important to him.

She was everything. And he would make her listen even if he had to tie her to the bed to do it.

Ummm ... Hermione tied to the bed ...

He _really_ needed to fix this!

oOoOoOo

Hermione sagged against the back of the couch. She was exhausted, and from the look of it, so was everyone else. The last forty-eight hours had been hellish, but at long last it was done. Now it was up to other people to do their parts.

The morning's _Prophet_ and _Quibbler_ had run a full-page story of Lucius' thwarted attempt to become the next self-appointed Dark Lord and his dreams of a New World Order where he ruled supreme. His plan had been to murder the existing Minister (scheduled for the following week) then getting himself appointed as Minister in his stead, after which he could then begin the process of weeding out the 'undesirables.'

The scary thing was, that Lucius had enough well placed supporters in his pockets that he could have conceivably pulled it off had he not been caught and Hermione shuddered thinking about the startling similarities with what had occurred during their year on the run.

Lucius (as fate would have it) had been careless enough to leave the manifesto outlining their future plans, along with the names and signatures of the men in allegience with his vision for the future, in his cloak pocket. There were over three dozen names. Thankfully, not all the members had been present or the squad of twelve Aurors would have not been enough to subdue them.

The rest had been apprehended in their homes and were now all being held in Ministry cells awaiting trial.

Hermione closed her eyes as she recalled, with more than a little horror, what they had outlined in the confiscated document that Rita had copied in its entirety for her story. In it, all muggleborns were to be systematically taken into custody, relieved of their magic through a dark ritual Voldemort had apparently intended to use, and then cast out of the wizarding world. Any property or gold would then be confiscated and 'redistributed' among the followers.

Half-bloods would be tolerated under the new regime, but were not allowed to hold any office above the supervisory level. They would also be prohibited from holding a teaching position at Hogwarts or a seat on the Wizengamot, and would be forbidden from marrying purebloods except under special circumstances.

She had been nearly ill just reading it.

It was a subdued lot that gathered together to read Rita's story, and Harry had looked stricken when he realized what had almost been allowed to happen. Ron didn't fare much better. Hermione herself was dismayed to admit that while she suspected something was going on, she had no idea the extent of Lucius' depravity and was immensely relieved they had stopped it in time.

It had hit Kingsley the worst. He had been grimm and eerily silent for the past two days, and almost manic in his determination to see justice done. It was obvious to everyone that he held himself responsible for what had almost been allowed to happen. No one else blamed him, but like any good leader he acknowledged his 'blindness' and vowed to resolve any weaknesses in the existing government.

The rest of the day had been long and grueling, but buoyed with an increased sense of righteousness, they somehow made it through.

Tomorrows headlines would feature the breaking story of an unprecedented number of resignations within both the upper levels of the Ministry, the Wizengamot and the Hogwarts Board of Governors, culminating in a complete upheaval of the current regime. Replacements were being sought and appointed in a surprisingly seamless manner and the number of promotions within the Ministry itself was staggering.

Arthur Weasley became the new Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, and Harry replaced Thompson as Head of the Aurors. Harry was uneasy with the promotion, especially considering his lack of foresight about what had gone on under his own nose. Kingsley, however, refused to take 'no' for an answer and convinced Harry to agree. Hermione knew this had been a wake-up call for all concerned and was pleased to see her friend accept his new position with a vow to never let it happen under his watch again.

Nothing would be solved overnight, but it was a huge step in the right direction. The easy part was over, now they just had to put the pieces of their government back together.

Hermione had agreed to stay on in an advisory capacity for as long as necessary while focusing the majority of her attention on reviewing, updating and amending the current set of laws that governed wizarding Britain. Kingsley had been impressed with her book, but admitted that change that drastic would take years, if not decades to fully implement.

She was just happy to have the radical purebloods out of power.

For the most part, those that received 'packets' tendered their resignations promptly as instructed. A few hardy souls, however, decided to call their bluff, and Hermione and Severus (who could still look wicked scary when he wanted to) had personally visited three senior members of the Ministry who refused to buckle under her threats until she arrived with a Gringotts goblin and an Auror in tow ready to enforce the new (and very steep) fines against those proven to have been supporters of Lucius Malfoy's seditious attempt to overthrow the current government.

Lucius had gained quite a large following and many financial backers anxious to curry favor once he took over as Minister. Thanks to Ragnok, she now had an irrefutable money trail as proof. The choice was easy: resign, keep your nose clean and you'll be left alone … or don't: lose all your money and face criminal charges.

By the end of the day, the sweep was unanimous. Out with the old and in with the new.

Not to say that the purebloods weren't still represented … they were. There would just be more equal representation across the board, with jobs awarded based on skill and ability instead of blood status alone.

In theory.

Hermione knew it would take time before all the kinks were worked out and people began to accept the new system, but she truly believed that in the long run everyone would benefit, even the purebloods themselves (although she doubted they would see it that way). Instead of being handed a position, they would have to compete for it like everyone else. That would force them to work harder while at Hogwarts in order to make themselves more competitive in the job market. The result being better trained wizards and witches in future generations.

That was the dream anyway. Only time would tell if what they had done had been truly groundbreaking, or complete shit.

The cynic in her believed it would end up being the latter, but Hermione the revolutionary, was hoping for the former.

She was pulled out of her reverie by the sound of her ex-boyfriend's voice.

"Right then, we're off." Ron stood up and helped Susan into the floo before giving a last wave and stepping through himself.

Neville yawned heavily and grabbed Luna's hand, "I don't know about you lot, but I'm wiped. Saving the world is tiring business." He gave a half-hearted smile before stepping into the floo, waiting for his wife.

"It was good to see you again, Hermione," Luna hugged her before following her husband. "We did a good thing. The nargles are nearly all gone." And then she to left.

Hermione just shook her head in affection. She may not always understand Luna, but she adored her all the same.

"That's it for me, I'm afraid." Ginny kissed Harry and squeezed Hermione's shoulder. "Don't stay up too late Harry, you know you have work tomorrow, Mr. Head of Magical Law Enforcement," she stated proudly.

Harry blushed slightly at the new title that had yet to fully sink in, but answered her straightaway, "I'll be up in a minute. I'll just say good night to Hermione and Severus."

Hermione knew that was her cue to leave, but she was struggling to find the energy. She also knew that she could no longer delay her 'talk' with Severus. She had avoided him all day and the few times he had gotten her alone she always had a ready excuse to get away from him.

It was easy to see he was more than frustrated with her, but did he really expect her to be eager to be dumped?

A small hopeful part of her whispered that 'just maybe, she was blowing things out of proportion again' ... but she was weak and easily subdued by the bigger, stronger voice that told her she _had not_ misconstrued his words. She had long since learned that it was best to always be prepared for the worst when it came to men, that way you weren't too disappointed.

Except, she always was, and she knew it would be a million times more devastating coming from Severus.

"You know, the offer still stands," Harry broke the suddenly tense silence, "You're welcome to stay the night. We have two extra rooms made up."

"No. But thank you," Severus spoke up before she could even formulate a response. "We have other plans this evening."

So saying, he grabbed both Hermione's hands and hauled her up to her feet, hustling her to the door before she could protest further.

"G'night, Harry," Hermione called over her shoulder as she was practically pulled out of the room.

"Severus! Honestly! That was rather rude don't you think?" she snapped.

"No," he said curtly, spinning around and backing her up against the door that had just closed behind them, "I have been as patient as I can be while you avoid me at every opportunity. We _need_ to talk, Hermione." He stepped forward and gently stroked her cheek. "Please?"

She nodded sadly. How could she refuse him when he looked at her with those beautiful eyes? Maybe it was best to just get it over with. It was just as well she would be busy the next few months; keeping occupied would help her forget Severus.

_Oh, who was she kidding. She would never forget him. _She silently berated herself_._

"Hermione ..." Severus started to say, but then shook his head and grabbed her hand, pulling her towards a clear spot they could apparate from. She could have sworn he muttered, 'not here.'

Within seconds, they were at a small cottage in the middle of the Scottish highlands, if her guess was correct, and Severus wasted no time allowing her to look around at the picturesque landscape before ushering her through the wards and into a well-lit sitting room.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked as soon as she took a seat on the small, but very comfortable sofa.

She nodded, her mouth suddenly as dry and arid as the desert. "Some water please," she rasped.

He gave her an odd look before exiting the room. She was so very tired and wasn't looking forward to this discussion at all. She laid her head back against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up and realize this had all been a horrible nightmare and everything was back to normal.

The light touch on her cheek startled her and she sat up with a jerk. Severus smirked slightly before his frown returned, and he handed her the glass of ice water which she took gratefully. After draining the glass, she set it down on the small table in front of her and clasped her hands together before turning slightly towards the man sitting entirely too close for her comfort.

She wanted to close the small gap between them and bury herself in his strength and warmth, but knew that would not help matters at all. The ache she had tried to ignore all day intensified at his proximity, and she decided just to lay all her cards on the table.

"Look Severus," she began before he could speak. "I'm sorry for avoiding you all day. It was a childish reaction, but I was afraid of what you were going to tell me," she held up her hand when he tried to interrupt. "Please just let me get this all out before I lose my nerve."

She took a deep breath and forced down the ache that was growing in her chest. She had helped prevent a coup against the government, she could be honest about her feelings.

"I understand what you were starting to tell me yesterday. You love Lily and always will," she swallowed past the lump in her throat, "I love you, Severus," she met his eyes for the first time since arriving. He deserved to know how she felt about him. "I love you more than I ever thought possible, but as I've told you before, I will not be a replacement for a ghost." His eyes looked suspiciously bright at her pronouncement and she faltered for just a moment before continuing. "What we've shared the last month has been amazing, and I will never forget our time together … I will never forget _you_," she added softly, her voice thick with emotion. "I just … _mmmpphh_."

Before she could say another word, she was unceremoniously hauled out of her seat and into his lap where he proceeded to kiss her breathless. Something he was quite good at, truth be told, and she savored the feel and taste of him before reluctantly pulling away.

"What was that for?" _Was that breathy voice really hers?_

"That," he added with another quick kiss for emphasis, "was my way of shutting you up."

He gently took her face between his large hands and gave her a look of such reverence it made her chest ache.

_Could it be?_

She was afraid to hope.

"What I started to say yesterday morning was that I have only ever loved one woman in my life … you," he said sincerely, and her heart froze for just a second before it nearly burst with happiness.

"But …" she started to say before he placed a single finger on her parted lips.

"Its my turn now," he gave her a soft smile, "I hate that you always expect the worst when it comes to me, but only an idiot would let you go … and I may be many things, but I'd like to think I'm not an idiot. Falling in love with you has made it very clear to me that what I felt for Lily was just a crush mixed with guilt that turned into a very unhealthy obsession. I love _you_, Hermione Granger, and what's more, I know I always will."

He gave her another soft kiss but she wanted more; she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a much more appropriate response to his declaration ... like trying to climb inside him via his mouth.

She was trying to remove his cloak with trembling fingers, her desire laden mind eager to feel his bare skin, but it wasn't cooperating.

"Hermione … Hermione, stop," he said, his breathing as ragged as hers. "I wasn't finished." He grabbed her hands to stop them from undressing him further. She could feel from the hardness against her hip and knew that he wanted her, but he seemed determined to halt things before they got interesting.

Her mewl of displeasure made him smile and kiss her nose, "You are adorable when you're miffed about something." He grew serious and she instinctively stiffened.

"See, there you go again, assuming the worst," he shook his head in exasperation. "I love you woman! Do you get that? I have never said those words to another human being in my life … only you!"

Hermione felt her insides melt again at the forcefulness of his declaration.

_He loved her! He loved her! He loved her! _That small voice, previously ignored, had come back with a vengeance and was doing a happy dance in her head.

"I … I want to … Hermione," his nervous expression and shy glances melted her insides even further, and she was hard pressed not to ravage him again.

"I don't know your plans for the future, or even your feelings about … marriage ... or children," he paused and she could have sworn her heart stopped at his words.

_Marriage? Children? Could he be …?_

"I know we've only been involved for a short time, but I've known from almost the first moment that I wanted forever with you and I was hoping you'd want to share a future with me." He reached into his robe and pulled out a black box. It was then she noticed that his hands were shaking just as much as hers and she felt an overwhelming rush of love for this nervous man who was declaring himself to her.

Her breath caught again when he opened the box to reveal the gorgeous ring inside.

"Hermione, please marry me. Share my life. Have children with me … or not, whatever you want." He looked adorable when he was flustered and Hermione could feel the hot tears coursing freely down her cheeks, but the lump in her throat was blocking her ability to speak.

"Just say you'll be mine," he asked earnestly, and all she could do was nod and throw her arms around his neck and hold on tight.

He wanted a future with her.

He wanted marriage and children.

_Was it possible all her dreams could come true?_

"Yes," she finally managed to croak in answer, "Yes, yes, yes!"

It didn't take long for their clothes to be removed; their frantic joining was quick and intense … the first time.

The rest of the night was a different story.

**A/N: Okay, that's it! Only an epilogue to go. Thanks again to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose, and to everyone who took the time to review. I sincerely appreciate it.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Okay, this is it. Thank you for everyone who stuck with me for the duration … especially those from before, and much thanks to my Beta: Voldyhasnonose.**

**On an aside, I have included a quote from one of my favorite TV shows of all time: _Coupling. _See if you can spot it. If you've never watched it, you are really missing out. **

As the fire crackled and threw a warm light over the room, Hermione allowed herself to relax for the first time that day. The last year had been a very busy one, but her agreement to help Kingsley rebuild the government had ended and she could finally move on with her own life.

Her life with Severus.

It had been a very painful transition, but the new leadership was now firmly in place, a full third of the existing laws had been thrown out and another third amended to reflect the current political climate. A climate of equality for all witches and wizards regardless of blood status … at least in theory. The reality was that it would be a long time before there was ever true equality, especially when the average lifespan was over a hundred and fifty years, and the average person's memory almost as long.

Prejudices nurtured over a lifetime and backed by a thousand years of tradition were not thrown out overnight simply because the Minister deemed it so, but they were at least taking a step in the right direction.

And as much as Hermione had pushed for equality among all magical creatures as well, she knew that would be even longer coming to fruition … if ever (at least in her lifetime), but she would keep trying. To help things along, and hopefully open a few eyes, she had decided her next book would be about the different magical creatures that lived in Britain. The more they were understood instead of feared or reviled, the easier it would be to accept them as vital and contributing members of society.

That was her hope anyway.

Luna, goddess bless her, had proposed a joint endeavor; excited about the possibility of educating the world about a few of the lesser known magical creatures, she suggested they work together to dispel the myths and legends surrounding so many previously unrecognized species.

Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her what a load of dung she thought it all was ... until in a fit of piqué redolent of Ginny on a bad day, Luna had reached into her pocket and pulled out ... something, and handed it to her skeptical friend. Hermione couldn't have been more shocked. She couldn't _see_ anything, but there was more than air in her hand, nor was it her imagination when the little shit bit her.

Hermione was forced to admit that maybe Luna's eccentricities _did_ have a basis for fact ... unfortunately, she just couldn't see the rest of the world embracing her discoveries.

Hermione had started losing her idealism back about the time Fudge tried to expel Harry for defending himself against the dark creatures the Ministry itself sent after him. It still occasionally tried to make an appearance, like a new bud at springtime trying to break through the winter's frost … but it rarely survived amidst the harsher realities of life.

Idealism was for the young and the unencumbered … neither of which she was any longer. The past year had driven that home quicker than anything else could. Because even honest politicians ... weren't. At least not all the time. Having to balance the needs and rights of the many against popular opinion and a constrained budget took a special kind of person to make work.

_She_ was not that kind of person, and on more than one occasion had to be asked to 'take a breather' when yet another pompous arse with large pockets and an impressive pedigree (at least in his own mind) condescended to explain why her proposal would 'never work.'

Hermione had discovered, much to her dismay, that the world was not made up of just Death Eaters and good guys. There were varying degrees of 'good,' and just because a pureblood didn't support Voldemort's (or Lucius') ideals, didn't mean they wanted their way of life intruded upon by a 'trumped-up muggleborn' intent on changing everything they held sacred.

Needles to say, she wasn't holding her breath for the invites to tea.

Hermione sighed and shoved aside her momentary bitterness. She had done what she could to help make a change for the better, and she knew she would continue to write books to open people's eyes to the world around them and hopefully encourage them to think for themselves instead of always following the crowd, like rats to the piper's tune. Anything beyond that she would leave to the next generation.

At least some justice had been done to Malfoy's little gang. They had all been arrested, tried and sentenced to life in Azkaban for their crimes against humanity, with Lucius receiving the harsher penalty of being escorted through the veil. Since it had been his third such charge (and even blind and obtuse wizards can finally admit that they had most likely been duped the two previous times), Lucius' claim that he had been _Imperiused_ didn't exactly ring true, especially considering he was the ringleader (two dozen men had testified as much).

But she had to give him points for the sheer ballsy attempt.

Hermione felt immense satisfaction when Lucius was found guilty, but took no joy in knowing he would pay for his crimes with his life. She understood the reason behind his sentence, but she had witnessed far too many needless deaths in her lifetime to ever take pleasure in it. She also knew that on some level Severus was grieving for the friend he had known while at Hogwarts, no matter how much he had disagreed with the philosophies of the man he had become.

The wives of the convicted men had also been taken into custody and questioned under Veritaserum, much to their mortification, but it was proven that while most had suspected their husbands of being involved in something 'not quite legal,' only a few had known (or wanted to know) what their husbands had really been doing. And while there was precedent to punish the wives, the general consensus was that it would be counter-productive, and the Wizengamot had absolved them of any wrongdoing.

Kinsley had later explained that the public, as fickle as they were, would never condone sending off women to prison en masse.

So, after the dust had settled (and the hefty fines paid), the pureblood princesses had quietly settled back to lick their wounds and try to salvage what they could of their reputations. Hermione suspected very little would keep the women down for long, but at least they had been 'neutered' somewhat in the wake of the trials.

Another interesting consequence of recent events had been that the _Daily Prophet_ had been forced to expand their Op Ed section to accommodate the massive influx of letters. Disgruntled readers were voicing their opinions in record numbers and the paper was struggling to keep up. Hermione had always believed the wizarding world was mostly populated by sheep; easily led and unwilling to go against the crowd, but the radical changes taking place in their comfortable little world had evidently awakened some previously dormant desire to be heard.

And while the majority were appalled (and belatedly, terrified) at the attempted rise of another Dark Lord seemingly right under their noses, they were even more unsettled at the complete reorganization of the government they had, if not always liked and approved of, at least been used to. She and her book had received more than their fair share of criticism and rancor for being the obvious cause of such upheaval.

The enemy you know and all that …

Hermione worked hard not to let it bother her. The traditionalist purebloods no longer had a forum to push their beliefs after being kicked out of the government; the paper provided an outlet for their bitter diatribes and less than subtle slurs against her and every other non-pureblood. Thankfully, they were only a small faction of the population, and while she didn't sympathize with their plight in the least, she did understand how hard it must be for the older purebloods to suddenly be powerless and unsupported.

Understanding was a far cry from commiserating, however, and she couldn't help but feel immense satisfaction that their plan had worked and the wizarding world (at least in Britain) finally stood a chance of evolving and moving in the right direction.

In a more surprising turn of events, her book, which she had self-published and intended only as a reference tool for the existing powers-that-be, had apparently caught the attention of the populace and she had been shocked almost speechless when she began getting requests from publishers around the world. She had never imagined there would be an interest, but evidently seeing proof in black and white that every government had issues had been an eye-opener for all concerned.

Being anal retentive by nature, Hermione's research had included just about every active government around the world as examples; listing not only its strengths, but also its perceived (and real) weaknesses. She had never intended for it to actually be _read_ by them; it had just been meant as a means of comparison for her own government of what seemed to work and what didn't.

Hermione would never consider herself an expert by any stretch of the imagination, she had simply summarized her findings; the numbers were the numbers and they didn't lie no matter how hard one wanted to believe otherwise. The fact that she was now being hailed as a 'revolutionary' (except in Britain where she was called much less flattering names) completely astounded her. But far be it from her to look a gift hippogriff in the mouth … if they wanted her book, and it could help make a difference, then she was happy to oblige.

Unfortunately, since she had self-published, that meant endless hours spent making copies. Her uni students had left once summer was over to return to their studies, so she was left doing the majority of the work herself. Thankfully, Mindy had a few friends who were available to help (for a price, of course), and production continued uninterrupted.

To date, her book had already been translated into thirteen languages … which meant there may yet be hope for the rest of the wizarding world, but Hermione decided she had plenty of time yet before breaking out in a rousing rendition of Kumbaya, especially as singing was _not_ one of her talents.

Not by a long shot.

Now that her time was her own again, she could think about starting her own small publishing company. That way she could publish her own future works as well as support other young writers eager to be heard.

The past year had also been trying on a personal level as well. With her spending most of her time at the Ministry and Severus experiencing an unexpected boom in business, they were lucky to have an entire weekend to spend together at one time, and even those had been often interrupted while Severus expanded and reorganized his company.

But at long last, her time at the Ministry was finished (much to Kingsley's displeasure) and Severus' renovations were complete and his new manager was fully trained and capable of handling anything that might come up.

Theoretically.

They both needed this time to decompress and reconnect. She understood he had obligations and that ultimately all his extra work was so that he could spend more time with her, but she had missed him terribly over the last months and was eagerly looking forward to some alone time with her man.

She couldn't wait.

Hermione had visited Lavender's upscale salon in Diagon Alley to be plucked, waxed, buffed, polished and painted in preparation for tonight's reunion. She had not seen Severus in almost two weeks as he had been working almost non-stop to finalize everything so they could take an extended vacation.

She needed some stress relief and knew he did as well; he had been a bear the last few times they had talked on the floo.

She eyed her outfit and hoped it would serve its purpose.

It hadn't taken much convincing on her part to get Severus to agree to a month-long hiatus from people … all people (especially her friends), and the house in Alberta had been stocked in preparation. If she had her way they would be spending most of it in bed.

To her great relief, Severus had loved both the lab and the greenhouse, and had spent weeks further personalizing each to suit his needs once he was settled into the house. By unspoken agreement, they both accepted that the house in Canada would become their main residence once her obligation to the Minister was done and his business settled. Hermione could write anywhere and Severus could use the lab to work on potions and his own research while still being readily available via floo if needed.

The decision to reside in Alberta had been a surprisingly simple one considering the state of things back home.

Even though they were finally starting to take a turn for the better in Britain, Hermione still received more than her fair share of nasty looks and comments wherever she went … how much of that was due to her books and how much because the news had finally gotten out that she and Severus were a couple she didn't know, nor did she care. Her private life was no one's business.

Too bad her friends didn't agree.

The fallout from her announcement that she was engaged to Severus (especially considering no one had even been aware they were dating) had been brutal, and it was only in the last month that she had agreed to speak to Ron again, thanks in large part to Susan's intervention. The fact that Hermione would lower herself to sleep with, much less marry the 'greasy git' had been a hard concept for Ron to accept.

Her right hook had been an even harder one.

Luna, Neville, Draco and Blaise had been the only ones to be openly accepting and truly happy for them, and as a result, had been her only friends to attend their bonding ceremony. The rest of her friends had been invited on a conditional basis only. _If_ Susan could keep Ron under control, than they could come as well.

It was a good thing Hermione had not held her breath.

Harry had come around after his initial hurt at her failure to confide in him had faded; he could hardly complain about her choice considering he had _named_ one of his children after Severus, but Ginny and her mother were less accepting.

Evidently, despite Harry's acceptance of Severus as a 'good guy,' Ginny had never forgotten his treatment of her during his time as headmaster and had only conceded on her son's name to appease Harry and Molly apparently still held a slight grudge against Severus for killing Albus Dumbledore.

To them, Severus was fine as a concept, but neither wanted him in their inner circle of friends, and both felt Hermione could 'do better.'

They had both eventually apologized to Hermione and attempted to make amends, but Hermione had a harder time forgiving their slight towards Severus no matter how many times Arthur tried to soothe things over. Hermione knew things would settle back down in time, and a part of her understood their position ... but the bigger part of her resented them for not accepting her choice.

It was something she was working on.

Another surprising set of allies had been George and Angelina. And while they were both fine with her choice and privately wished she and Severus well, in order to keep getting free Sunday meals and babysitting from Molly, they had to refrain from making their support public.

She couldn't really blame them.

Severus had been unusually noncommittal after learning her friend's reactions to the news of their impending nuptials, but later that night, had quietly asked her if she was sure he was whom she wanted. Her blistering response had more than satisfied him; as had the very steamy make-up session ... and the issue had not been brought up again.

She wanted Severus.

Period.

Speaking of which … she felt him passing through the wards and hastily stood up. She had mostly gotten over her self-conscientiousness when it came to her body, but this was the first time she had ever 'dressed up' for him and she was a bit nervous. Not to mention it had been over two weeks since they had last seen each other for longer than ten minutes, and she had no idea what sort of mood he would be in when he arrived.

Was it any wonder she was less than relaxed?

She adjusted her stockings, straightened the corset (which even she had to admit made her breasts look impossibly full and unnaturally high), stepped into the ridiculously steep heels she had purchased just because they made her bum look more perky and her legs longer, and leaned back against the mantle in what she hoped was an alluring pose.

oOoOoOo

Severus entered the room; exhausted and wanting nothing more than a stiff drink and to see Hermione again ... not necessarily in that order. He stopped mid-stride as soon as his eyes fell on the gorgeous creature that was his wife. Her mouth-watering curves were temptingly displayed in a sinful creation of deep green silk, and in that instant he knew he was the luckiest bastard that ever lived.

He set down his briefcase and slowly removed his cloak, never once breaking eye contact.

"It's not my birthday, so I can only assume this is your way of telling me you missed me," he said huskily. It didn't help that all the blood had left his brain and traveled south so quickly it made his knees weak. His tiredness was forgotten but his hands were less than steady as he continued to undress while maintaining his distance, knowing that as soon as he touched her, he would be lost.

Hermione.

His Hermione.

_His wife_.

Just saying that made his heart hitch and warmed him down to his very toes.

The last year had been less than ideal as they both struggled find time to be together amidst the upheaval caused by her book, the arrest of Lucius and his gang of followers, the complete overhaul of the governing bodies in Britain and his business expansion. He had tried to be there for her as much as possible, but every time they had a moment's peace, something always seemed to come up to call one or the other away.

It hadn't helped that her so-called friends had been less than supportive about her relationship with him.

Feeling more than a little guilty for his part in the drama unfolding amongst the Gryffindors, he had halfheartedly (and very unwisely as it turned out) suggested maybe they should take a 'break' until her friends calmed down. The subsequent row had been intense, but the making-up had been mind-blowing.

He had never brought the subject up again, even if he still felt the occasional twinge of conscience for being the cause of a rift between the infamous (and notorious) Golden Trio.

Severus still woke up some days in complete awe at how the fates had blessed him. He lived in a beautiful house with a state of the art potion's lab and greenhouse to continue his research. He was comfortably well off thanks to his various patents and the increase in his business, and he was married to an incredible woman who loved him without reservation.

He was happy. For the first time in his miserable life, he was truly happy, and he vowed to do everything in his power to ensure he always made her happy in return.

Starting right now.

He unbuttoned his shirt sleeves and allowed the garment to fall unheeded to the floor as he crossed the room. He stopped just short of touching her and allowed his eyes to sear every inch of the delectable creature in front of him. Without conscious thought he was soon kneeling in front of her; a supplicant before his master.

His hands followed the same path as his eyes, and he softly caressed the strip of smooth skin left bare at the top of the stockings. His heart was racing as he inhaled her musky arousal before finally looking up to meet her hooded eyes; the raw desire and immense love he saw there making his breath hitch.

It still amazed him that she wanted him. He had never had a woman respond to his lightest touch the way she did.

It was truly as if they were made for each other.

"You are a like a goddess incarnate, my Hermione," he whispered as his nose nudged the damp spot at the vee of her supple thighs and he couldn't hold back a grin at her sharp intake of breath; she was just as affected as him.

And she was all his.

Severus was not a religious man … he had seen far too much evil and pain in his life to ever believe in a god that would allow such things … but in that moment he wanted to thank whatever deity existed for the woman before him. Leaning forward he gently kissed the stomach that would hopefully someday carry his son or daughter.

He had been amazed (and humbled) to discover that not only did Hermione want to marry him, but she wanted to have a child (or children) with him.

He … Severus Snape … ex-Death eater … murderer of Albus Dumbledore, one of the most powerful and best loved wizards to ever live …. greasy git of the dungeons and hated Potion's professor for over sixteen years.

It still amazed and humbled him.

He knew he was not even remotely worthy of this woman, but he would be damned if he let her get away or gave her any reason to doubt him or have second thoughts about their future together.

As he slowly stood, his eyes never leaving hers as his hands continued to worship her curves; one thought kept repeating like a mantra through his mind.

_Mine_.

_Mine_.

_Mine_.

He stepped out of his shoes and socks (no woman wanted to do the 'squelchy' with a naked man in socks) before finally allowing his pants to drop to the floor. He decided it was probably best to leave his boxers on or else this whole evening would be over much too soon.

Her eyes slid down his torso and rested briefly on his obvious arousal before meeting his gaze and quirking an eyebrow.

The cheeky woman had stolen his signature move … but damn if she didn't look sexy as hell doing it_. _

He allowed his fingers to lightly graze across the abundant cleavage on display and unconsciously licked his lips in anticipation. After a year of being intimate with Hermione, the sex continued to get better as her confidence (in both her body, and her own skills) grew. The little minx could arouse him with just a look and she knew it.

Not that he was complaining.

He had also discovered that 'little miss innocent' had a kinky side, which he took immense pleasure in exploring and encouraging. No, his only issue with their sex life, was that there wasn't enough of it. But that would change in the coming weeks.

He had finally gotten his company settled enough to run without him, and she was finally free of her obligation to Kingsley. So they could (at last) have some much needed quality time together. Their paltry excuse for a honeymoon had been only two days spent in bed before an explosion at his lab had forced him back to London. It had taken his manager two weeks to stop shaking in fear every time he looked at her.

If he had his way, Hermione wouldn't be leaving their bed for at least a week. Beyond that …

After a kiss so hot it nearly melted his toes, he took great pleasure in slowly removing her corset … the stockings and heels stayed on because, well … he was a _man_ and they were _bloody brilliant_.

Their lovemaking was over far too quickly for his liking, but he knew they had plenty of time to remedy that situation now that they were both officially on holiday. Instead he savored the post-coital haze of utter contentment; his body satiated (temporarily), his arms full of warm curves and his mind blissfully blank.

And his heart … his heart nearly burst with love for the woman who had publicly claimed him as her own; vowing before their friends to love, honor and cherish him for all eternity.

"I love you, you know," she muttered sleepily; her hand lazily drawing circles in the sparse hair on his chest. "My husband," she said dreamily; her eyes meeting his and the love and acceptance he saw blazing in them almost stole his breath.

"I love you as well, my wife," his tone was filled with reverence and awe at the miracle in his arms.

"Mine," he said before he kissed her swollen lips.

"Mine," he whispered against the swell of her breast.

"Mine," he repeated as his tongue found her sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Mine!" he shouted as he spilled his seed into the heat of her body.

"Mine," he vowed as he curled himself around her plaint body; her soft snores making him smile.

_Mine_, was his last thought before darkness welcomed him into its inky depths.

Neither was aware of Mindy as she banked the fire and covered up her sleeping charges. Her heart lightened by the couple asleep on the rug … and the babe they had just conceived. She wondered if she should wake them and share the happy news, but dismissed the thought as soon as it arrived. They looked too peaceful to disturb.

Tomorrow would be soon enough.


End file.
